by Jayne Castel
Some of the folk of this land actually believed that the outlaws were Fair Folk who disappeared into fairy mounds at dusk. However, Carr knew better. He’d seen the village hidden deep within that lost valley. After the skirmish with the band a month earlier, he’d searched the ruins of the camp, and had been surprised to see how settled they’d been there. He’d discovered a forge, store huts full of food, and fields full of crops on the southern slopes of the valley.
They weren’t supernatural beings; they were just very good at hiding.
“The Bastard mustn’t slip through our net,” MacKinnon said, his voice rough now. “I want ye to bring him to me in chains.”
Duncan MacKinnon shifted in his chair and stared moodily down at his goblet of wine. The rich liquid gleamed darkly up at him, but after Carr’s visit, he’d lost his taste for it. He’d sent his right-hand on his way and was grateful to be left alone in the solar once more.
But, of course, that left him alone with his thoughts. And they were bleak these days.
Muttering a curse, Duncan ran a tired hand over his face. Fatigue pulled him down, making his limbs feel leaden and his body ache. He was only forty winters old, so why did he suddenly feel like an old man?
With a sigh, he set his goblet aside on the stone edge of the hearth, and leaned down, ruffling Bran’s ears. The charcoal grey brindled wolfhound stirred from its sleep and sat up, pushing against his leg.
Warmth rushed through Duncan, and he let the hound lick his hand.
No matter what happened in his life, despite his many disappointments and betrayals, he could always rely on Bran. Dogs were uncomplicated. No matter what he did, Bran would remain at his side.
Heaving himself up out of his chair, Duncan walked unsteadily to the open window of the solar. There, he braced himself against the stone ledge, closing his eyes for a few moments as his head spun. He’d consumed too much wine on an empty stomach. A foolish thing to do.
I must stop drinking so much. With everything he had to deal with at the moment, he needed a clear head. He needed to be strong. And that also meant that he had to start eating properly again.
Duncan opened his eyes. He would make sure he cleared his platter at the noon meal today. He would also resume his afternoon swordplay sessions with Carr. At his age, he couldn’t afford to let his physical condition slip.
The clan-chief’s gaze swiveled then to the view beyond his window. He spied industry in the bailey below: men shoeing horses, and servants carrying barrels of ale and sacks of grain into the broch. Beyond, the roofs of Dunan village itself rose. Outside the walls, stark against the jade pinewood, he saw smoke rising in a dark column.
A lump rose in Duncan’s throat at the sight of it.
Funeral pyres.
Just after daybreak, he’d been returning from a ride out with his hounds when he’d seen the folk of Dunan carrying the dead out of the fortress.
There had been a dozen of them, and he’d heard that at least another dozen were gravely ill in ‘The Warren’. The sickness now had Dunan in its grip, and he was powerless to stop it.
The pressure in Duncan’s throat increased, clamping down and making it hard to breathe. This stronghold belonged to him, and the lives within it were his responsibility.
Yet for the first time since he had assumed the role as clan-chief of the MacKinnons, Duncan wished the charge had fallen to someone else.
7
Unnatural Behavior
ONE DAY SLID into the next, and Coira grew increasingly jittery and on edge.
Kilbride felt overrun with men.
Coira didn’t like it. Her past had left her with a distrust of males. The best thing about coming to live at Kilbride had been the ability to thrive in a female environment. She didn’t need to be wary of her companions here, or drop her gaze in fear of inadvertently enticing a man. She didn’t need to lock her door at night, scared that some drunken letch might stumble in and collapse on top of her. It had happened once at The Goat and Goose. But here, Mother Shona ruled. And she was a woman who taught others to be strong. She’d given Coira skills that made her feel as if she was taking back just a little control over a world that had nearly destroyed her.
One evening, as the shadows lengthened and a chill breeze blew in from the sea, Coira decided that she needed to relieve some tension, to forget about the worries that plagued her.
It was bad enough that they were harboring a fugitive—although Coira had slowly relaxed in Craeg’s presence over the past days—but they now had Father Camron and his flock to contend with. The mere sight of the abbot’s self-righteous face put her teeth on edge.
She’d deliberately avoided practicing with her quarter-staff since Father Camron’s arrival. However, this evening Coira decided to take a calculated risk and find a private spot away from prying eyes.
Retrieving the stave from her cell, she made her way to the eastern edge of the abbey grounds, to a secluded area where a small orchard of apple and pear trees grew on the far side of the vegetable plots.
The trees were in full leaf now, the first tiny bulbs of fruit just making an appearance.
Carrying her staff loosely at her side, Coira entered the orchard. A little of the strain within her unknotted, and she deepened her breathing, letting the stress of the past few days release.
In the midst of the orchard, in a small clearing, she halted. There, she began to go through her drills. Immediately, as the staff whistled through the air, Coira started to feel better. The physical exertion eased the tightness in her chest and loosened the rigid muscles in her neck, back, and shoulders. She hadn’t realized she’d been so tense.
Sweat trickled down Coira’s back between her shoulder blades as she went through her drills again and again—thrusting, spinning, and blocking with her staff. Her blood pulsed in her ears, her breathing now coming in gasps. She had almost reached the limits of her endurance, and was about to stop, when she heard stifled gasps behind her.
Whipping around, Coira’s gaze settled upon two black-robed figures standing but a handful of yards away.
Ice slithered down her sweaty back, and her fingers clenched around the staff.
Two young monks, their smooth faces slack with shock, gaped at her. It was almost comical, for the pair stared as if they’d just seen her sprout horns and a forked tail. A heartbeat passed, and then another—and a sickening sensation clawed up Coira’s throat from her belly.
How was she going to explain this to Father Camron?
“This is unnatural behavior.”
The abbot’s voice boomed through the chapter house, making the stained glass windows that lined one side of the small building vibrate.
Eyes downcast, her gaze fixed upon the flagstone floor, Coira wondered how Mother Shona was going to respond. She’d barely been able to meet the woman’s gaze since being called in here. Guilt compressed Coira’s chest, and she started to sweat. Not from exertion this time but from dread.
“Sister Coira has a different background to most of the nuns here,” the abbess finally replied. To Coira’s surprise, the woman’s voice was serene. Raising her chin, she shifted her attention to where Mother Shona stood, facing the abbot. Hands clasped before her, the crucifix about her neck glinting in the light of the surrounding banks of tallow candles, the abbess appeared unruffled. “Before coming to live with us, she had to fend for herself. She developed skills that most women do not.”
The abbess’s attention shifted then to Coira. “I have told ye, child. Ye are safe here. There is no need to keep up such ungodly skills.”
“I am sorry, Mother.” Coira dropped to one knee before the abbess, allowing her to make the sign of the cross above her. “With all the talk of pestilence and outlaws, I grew fearful for our safety here. I wish only to protect the abbey should evil men attack us.”
Coira’s contrition wasn’t feigned. She was truly sorry for putting Mother Shona in this position. She would apologize properly later though, when the abbot wasn�
�t present.
“Foolish, presumptuous woman.” Father Camron’s harsh voice slammed into her. It grated like a rusty saw. “How dare ye take matters into yer own hands? Have ye not learned to trust in God? Ye have no need to take up arms … not if yer faith is strong enough.” His face twisted then. “Ye are no better than that witch, Annella MacNichol. I saw how she wielded knives. Such skill is unnatural in a woman!”
Tearing her gaze from the abbess, and remaining upon one knee, Coira forced herself to look at the abbot. His high colored face had gone the shade of a boiled beet. His dark eyes blazed, and his heavy jaw was locked in rage. Wisely, she did not contradict him. Instead, she swallowed what little pride she had left, clasped her hands before her, and bent her head. “I am sorry, Father. I should know better. Please forgive me for my sin. Please forgive me for my lack of trust.”
A brittle silence settled in the chapter house. The three of them were alone in here. A small mercy at least; Coira was spared an audience to witness her humiliation. Even so, her belly clenched and indignation pulsed like an ember under her breastbone. Her faith was strong these days. Mother Shona had taught them that a nun could do the Lord’s work while learning how to defend herself. There was no shame in it, and it galled her to apologize to the abbot.
It had been years since she’d knelt before a man, and she hated the feeling.
When the abbot spoke again, his voice hadn’t softened. “It is not entirely yer fault, Sister. Mother Shona has clearly been too lenient with ye over the years.” His attention shifted to the abbess, his gaze narrowing. “This transgression should never have happened. Ye should take a rod to this nun for her behavior.”
Coira’s breathing hitched. The heat that pulsed within her now threatened to ignite into a raging furnace. She couldn’t believe the abbot would suggest such a thing, and yet she shouldn’t have been surprised. Just the night before, she’d seen him smack one of his monks around the ear for accidentally spilling some ale during supper.
Shifting her attention back to the abbess, Coira saw, for the first time, Mother Shona’s calm splinter. Her jaw tensed, and she frowned. “There will be no violence here, Father. I have never lifted a hand to any of the nuns here. And I never will.”
Father Camron snorted. “Well, I have no such qualms, Mother. Find me a good stick, a rod of willow will do nicely, and I will see to this nun for ye. He glanced back at Coira, his dark eyes gleaming. “I’ll teach her a lesson she won’t forget.”
“I repeat, Father, there will be no violence at Kilbride.” The steel in Mother Shona’s voice was evident now. She was done holding back her irritation with this man. Coira tensed at this realization. The last thing she wanted was for Mother Shona to lose her temper with the abbot. He could make life very difficult for them all if he so chose.
Witnessing the stand-off between the pair, a hollow sensation lodged itself in the pit of Coira’s belly. Mother Shona wasn’t going to back down—and from the look on the abbot’s face, neither was he.
“Sister Coira knew harsh treatment before coming to live here.” Mother Shona’s voice was low and firm, although the hard edge was still there. “I vowed that she would only ever know kindness within these walls.”
Coira’s throat thickened at these words. It was true; the abbess had always treated her with respect.
However, Mother Shona hadn’t yet finished. “The Sisters of Kilbride entrust me with their well-being. I will not betray that trust,” she continued, her gaze never wavering from the abbot. “Sister Coira will spend the night praying before the altar in the kirk for her transgression. That will be sufficient punishment.”
“That’s not enough,” Father Camron countered, a vein now pulsing in his temple. “Ye need to set an example!”
Mother Shona folded her arms across her chest, her chin lifting as she eyeballed her adversary. “And I am,” she said, her tone hardening. “If one of my flock strays, they will be guided back to the fold. My methods differ from yers, Father, but in the end we both serve our Lord the best we can. That’s all that matters.”
Coira welcomed the solitude and peace inside the kirk. A night here was supposed to be her penance, yet part of her actually looked forward to it.
After supper and Compline, the abbey entered the Great Silence. Usually, she’d have gone to the infirmary to tend to her patient, but the abbess had insisted that she was to go to the kirk immediately to begin her prayers. As such, Coira had sent Sister Mina to attend to Craeg in her stead. The nun would bring the man some gruel and bread, and check that his fever hadn’t returned.
Coira would visit him again in the morning.
A frown marred her brow when she thought about her patient. With each passing day, his presence here grew riskier for them all. Craeg kept insisting he should leave, and yet he still wasn’t well enough to do so. Coira hoped Sister Mina would be careful when she went to the infirmary.
Strangely, she felt a little envious that the novice would get to spend time with Craeg this evening, would hear of his escapades with his band of outlaws. She liked hearing his stories, but tonight she’d do penance instead.
Kneeling upon the stone floor of the kirk, Coira winced. The flagstones were ice-cold. Despite that the warmer months were now upon them, the air inside the kirk was chill, and it remained so even on the hottest days in summer.
It was going to be a cold, uncomfortable night.
She had no cushion to protect her knees from the cold stone, and after a short while, her kneecaps began to ache, numbness creeping up her thighs. But, hands clasped before her, Coira didn’t move. Head bowed, she murmured prayers of penance, asking the Lord for forgiveness for her sins.
However, she didn’t ask forgiveness for practicing with her quarter-staff—only that she’d let selfishness blind her to the risk she was taking.
She was truly sorry about that. Sorry too that she’d compromised Mother Shona.
Slowly, the tension ebbed out of her. As always, when she prayed in the kirk, Coira felt God’s presence settle upon her like a warm, comforting blanket. She hadn’t been devout before entering the abbey, but the kindness she’d found here had made her change her views.
The evening stretched on, and eventually the witching hour approached. Twice Coira heard someone enter the kirk. The first time, it was a gentle presence, and although Coira didn’t look up from her prayers, she sensed that it was Mother Shona, checking in on her. The second visitor arrived much later, at the time of night when the world seemed to hold its breath. The heavy scuff of sandaled feet on stone approaching from behind warned her that it was not the abbess or any of the other nuns.
A man approached.
Coira’s spine stiffened, her body growing taut. Even after all these years, her instincts were honed around men. After over a decade now, she still didn’t trust them. It couldn’t be Craeg, for the man was barely able to rise from his sickbed. No, she knew, without even glancing up, who her visitor was.
Father Camron.
The footsteps halted behind her, and she heard the rasp of a man’s breathing. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Ye are a wicked woman, Sister Coira. Don’t think yer averted gaze, and yer feeble apologies, have fooled me. I see through it all.”
Coira’s mouth went dry, her heart hammering against her ribs. Wisely, she kept her gaze downcast, her hands clasped tightly in prayer. She squeezed her eyes shut and continued to murmur her prayer. “Please, Lord, forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
“Empty words,” the abbot murmured. “But lucky for ye, the abbess guards ye all with the fierceness of a mother hen.” She heard the whisper of his feet on stone as he moved closer still. Coira’s skin prickled, her breathing accelerating.
If he touches me, I’ll defend myself.
“But be warned.” His voice lowered further still. “I’m watching ye.”
8
U
ntil My Last Breath
“I WAS HOPING to see ye, Sister,” Craeg greeted Coira with a smile when she pulled aside the hanging and stepped inside the alcove. However, an instant later, his expression grew serious. “Ye look as if ye haven’t slept?”
Coira huffed and let the hanging fall behind her. “I haven’t.”
The air was close in here. She didn’t like it. Coira believed that the sick should have free-flowing air around them, for it chased away ill humors. But it was too risky to set this patient up near the window. One of Father Camron’s monks could peek into the infirmary at any time. The hanging wouldn’t keep prying eyes at bay forever, but it was the best she could do in the meantime.
Stiffly, for her knees ached with each step, Coira made her way toward the sleeping pallet. In one hand she carried a bowl of warm water, in the other her basket of healing herbs.
Observing her patient, Coira was pleased to see that color had returned to Craeg’s cheeks. A sheen of sweat no longer covered his skin, and his eyes weren’t fever bright as they had been. He sat, propped up on a nest of pillows.
The man exuded an impatient energy—Coira could see he wasn’t the type used to being forced to stay still.
“I sometimes have trouble sleeping too,” he admitted with a boyish grin. “Maybe it’s the result of a guilty conscience.”
“I sleep like a bairn,” Coira replied, arching an eyebrow. “It wasn’t restlessness that caused my sleepless night. I transgressed yesterday, and so had to spend the night praying as penance.”
Hs gaze widened. “A nun who doesn’t follow the rules … I’m intrigued.”
“The abbot wasn’t,” Coira answered, breaking eye contact as she set the basket down on the end of the bed. “How are ye feeling?”
Craeg didn’t answer right away, and Coira eventually glanced up, frustrated that he wasn’t letting her change the subject. She was tired and irritable. She didn’t want to discuss herself. Their gazes held for a long moment, before his smile faded. “Much better, I guess. My side doesn’t hurt as much as it did. Can I go now?” She caught the restlessness in his voice.