by Jayne Castel
Heading in the direction of the fireside, Coira removed her scarf and tucked it away in her healer’s basket. Her limbs felt heavy, and her temples ached. She wasn’t sure what the time was, but she sensed it was growing late.
“We all need to sleep … like everyone else in this camp,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping around at her companions. “There’s nothing more any of us can do for the moment.”
Craeg nodded, rising from the fireside. “Very well … I’ll be in my tent if anyone needs me.” His voice was subdued as well, his gaze shuttered.
Watching him, Coira wondered if he was brooding about what she’d told him earlier. She hadn’t expected such kindness, such compassion, from him. It had unbalanced her. She knew his hatred for Duncan MacKinnon ran deep, and she wondered if she’d just added fuel to the fire.
A strange hush had settled over the camp, now that most of the folk here had retired for the night. However, it was a watchful, tense silence, for they all knew what the dawn would bring.
Craeg needed to rest, and Coira wanted to let him retire to his tent, yet she needed to ask something else of him tonight.
“Craeg,” she called to him as he turned to go.
The outlaw leader swiveled around. “Aye?”
Coira faced him, her gaze steady. “When ye and yer men ride out to face MacKinnon tomorrow, I want to go with ye.”
Craeg tensed. “War isn’t for women,” he replied, his tone terse now. “Ye will be safer here.”
“I can fight,” Coira replied, scowling. “All Sisters of Kilbride know how to wield a weapon.”
A muscle flexed in Craeg’s jaw. Coira was aware that Gunn’s gaze was boring into her back, yet she deliberately kept her attention upon the man who stood between her and her wishes.
“As ye all might have guessed, the quarter-staff I carry isn’t to help me walk,” she continued. “Mother Shona taught me how to do harm with it.”
“That may be so,” Craeg replied after a pause. “But being able to wield a weapon, and facing a screaming warrior bearing down up ye with a claidheamh-mor is another.”
Coira raised her chin, her own jaw tensing. “I’m aware of that.”
Their gazes fused. A battle of wills ensued. Although she appreciated Craeg’s empathy earlier, she’d not be ordered around by him now.
“Ye are needed here, to tend Fen,” Gunn spoke up from behind her, his voice wary.
“Flora will be able to look after her,” Coira replied, her gaze still fixed upon Craeg. “I’ve done all I can for the time being.”
Silence settled over the fireside. “I won’t get in yer way,” Coira continued, stubbornness settling within her. She’d argue this with Craeg all night if he wished. “But ye will have yer vengeance tomorrow. Let me have mine.”
20
No Going Back
“MACKINNON … ARE YE unwell?”
Duncan MacKinnon’s head snapped up at the abbess’s enquiry.
No, he wasn’t. His head hurt. His body ached. And it felt like someone had just taken a stick to him. Not only that, but he was sweating as if he sat next to a roaring fire. Although it was a cool morning, the air heavy with mist, it felt the hottest day of the year to him. There was no doubt about it, he was getting sick. Yet he wasn’t about to admit his frailty—not to this bloody woman.
“I’m fine,” he rasped and returned his attention to where he was tightening his horse’s girth.
“So ye know the location of the outlaw camp?” she asked.
Duncan shot her a hard look. He was grateful she’d changed the subject, but the gleam in the abbess’s eyes made him suspicious of her. Mother Shona was taking far too much interest in his affairs. Indeed, Keith and the others had returned with news that they’d tracked the outlaw and nun into the mountains. They’d taken refuge in a hidden ravine.
Still, it mattered not if she knew his intent this morning.
“Aye,” he growled. “They’re hiding out in the mountains east of Kilbride … and we’re heading there to slaughter them.”
The abbess appeared to flinch at the brutality of his words, and despite that he felt like death warmed up, MacKinnon managed a grim smile. This pious woman, with her peaceful ways, paled at such violent talk.
He held her gaze for a moment, darkness stirring within him. He hadn’t been making idle threats to Coira. He’d meant it when he’d told her that he’d butcher the abbess and her flock of nuns if Coira didn’t return to Dunan with him.
But Coira had still defied him. Right now, she was with his bastard brother.
Duncan’s already aching belly, twisted. Anyone but him. She’ll pay for disobeying me.
When he’d dealt with his brother, and his ragged band, Duncan would return to this abbey and slit this annoying woman’s throat. Then he’d torch this place.
As if glimpsing the violence in his eyes, the abbess drew back and made the sign of the cross before her.
“Peace be with ye, MacKinnon,” she murmured, her voice cowed.
Duncan flashed her a harsh smile. “Aye … it will be.”
He swung up onto his horse’s back and twisted in the saddle, noting that the rest of his men had also mounted and were awaiting his orders.
A wave of nausea washed over Duncan then, and he clutched the pommel of the saddle. Satan’s cods, I feel wretched. Fear slithered in the pit of his belly, cold and clammy. Is it the plague?
No—he wouldn’t entertain the thought. He’d merely eaten something that had made him ill.
“We ride!” He called out, gathering his reins. Turning his horse on its haunches, he urged it toward the open gates.
Mother Shona watched the clan-chief and his men empty out of the yard. One moment the space had been filled with men and horses—the next she stood alone, listening to the drum of hoof-beats as they galloped east.
Murmuring a prayer, she crossed herself once more.
The good Lord protect me … that man is evil.
She’d never looked into someone’s eyes and feared for her life like she just had. She’d seen his intent, as clear as if he’d spoken the words.
He planned to kill her.
Heart drumming against her ribs, Mother Shona wiped her damp palms on her skirts, her gaze still upon the open gate where the clan-chief had just departed.
MacKinnon was sick. He could deny it all he wanted, yet the pallor of his face, the sheen of sweat upon his skin, and the way he moved as if he’d suddenly aged overnight told a different tale. The sickness had dug its claws into him.
Still, the knowledge didn’t make him any less dangerous. He wasn’t ill enough to be prevented from spilling blood today.
A chill feathered down Mother Shona’s nape. Until now, Kilbride had been a sanctuary against the sickness, yet MacKinnon had brought it here. How many of them would fall ill because of him?
The abbess clenched her jaw, her gaze still upon the empty gateway. She recalled the things Sister Coira had told her, of how MacKinnon had tormented her.
No wonder she’s run off. The very sight of the clan-chief must have turned Sister Coira’s stomach. Mother Shona’s breathing hitched. Satan rules this land … and he must be stopped.
A cool feeling of resolve settled over the abbess then, drilling in the marrow of her bones. MacKinnon’s rule of terror would end today, and she would sacrifice her life, if need be, to see it done.
She tore her attention from the gateway and swept her gaze around, taking in the peaceful surroundings of Kilbride. This place had been her home for so long, but it wouldn’t be for much longer.
Everything was changing. Father Camron’s campaign against her would never end. Even without MacKinnon threatening the abbey, the sanctuary that she’d worked so hard to protect would soon be no more.
That being the case, she’d do what she could to help Craeg and his men bring MacKinnon down.
Turning on her heel, she glanced about her. It was early, just after dawn. She and the sisters had just finished Lauds, the
prayer dedicated to recounting the eternal light bestowed on the world by the Risen Christ.
The monks were now at prayer in the kirk. As soon as the nuns exited, the abbot and his monks had filed inside. Father Camron insisted on conducting his own dawn service, in which the nuns were not welcome.
Spying a small figure across the yard, hurrying toward the refectory, Mother Shona called out. “Sister Mina.”
The novice halted and turned to her. After the awful scene the day before, in which MacKinnon had strode across the refectory, hauled Sister Mina from her seat, and twisted her arm behind her back, she was surprised not to see the young woman’s face gaunt and strained. MacKinnon had come close to breaking her arm. Yet the novice wore a composed, if wary, expression this morning.
She expected a rebuke from the abbess—although none had been forthcoming the day before.
“Come, Sister … help me. We must bar the doors,” Mother Shona instructed, striding toward the kirk. “Now!”
Thankfully, although Sister Mina’s gaze drew wide at the instruction, the novice didn’t question her. A heartbeat later the nun joined her, and they ascended the stone steps to the kirk. There was a heavy iron bar inside the building, in case the nuns ever had to barricade themselves inside during an attack. However, there was also a bar on the outside—one that Mother Shona had never used, until today.
Halting before the closed oaken doors, the abbess listened. Inside, she could hear the low rumble of the abbot’s voice.
Mother Shona’s mouth thinned. There’s no going back after this.
Father Camron was looking for something to condemn her for—and she was about to give him an excellent reason. However, this man’s meddling could no longer be borne.
For what she planned to do now, he had to be kept out of the way.
Together, the two women lifted the heavy bar and slid it through the iron handles, locking the doors together. Fortunately, there was no other exit from the kirk, for the narrow windows were too high to reach.
Father Camron and his monks were now trapped inside.
Turning to Sister Mina, the abbess saw the novice’s gaze was gleaming with excitement. Although she hadn’t yet explained her plan, the young woman knew that something was afoot.
“Gather the others. Tell them to don their winter woolen leggings, and collect their weapons and bring them to the stables,” she ordered, her voice sharp with purpose. “No time must be wasted.”
“Where are we going, Mother?” Sister Mina asked. She was already moving away, intent on doing the abbess’s bidding.
“MacKinnon plans to carry out a massacre today,” Mother Shona replied. “We must stop him.”
Sister Mina’s step faltered, her eyes growing huge. “We’re going to fight the clan-chief?” The novice’s voice trembled, betraying her fear. Mother Shona didn’t blame her. Sister Mina hadn’t been at Kilbride long, and hadn’t spent as long as the abbess had preparing for this day.
But many of the others had. This was the day they’d all hoped would never come.
“Hurry, Sister,” the abbess instructed sharply. “Time is against us.”
Dawn had barely touched the edge of the ravine as Craeg strode through the ranks of his men. Shouldering quivers of arrows and pinewood shields, their faces were grim, their gazes glinting with purpose.
Craeg met their gazes, his chest constricting as both pride and trepidation filled him.
These men trusted him.
They’d put their lives in his hands—he couldn’t fail them.
“We leave shortly,” he shouted, his voice echoing about the rumble of conversation. “Ready yerselves.” It wasn’t a rousing speech, but there would be time enough for that on the battlefield.
Approaching the far end of the ravine, Craeg tensed, preparing himself for the worst. No word of Fenella had reached him for the remainder of the night. He’d slept fitfully and awoken in the pre-dawn, exhausted.
Had Fen died overnight and no one told him? A heavy weight pressed down upon Craeg’s breastbone at the thought of losing Fenella; she and Gunn had been with him since the beginning. They were the family he’d always longed for. The fear in Gunn’s eyes the night before had been a dirk-blade to Craeg’s guts.
He hated to see his friend suffer like this.
Gunn stood before the smoking ruins of last night’s fire, his face hewn from stone as he prepared himself for battle. He’d donned a mail shirt and was attempting to lace leather bracers about his forearms.
“Here.” Craeg stopped before him. “I’ll help ye with that.”
“Fen usually does this,” Gunn replied softly.
“How is she?” Craeg asked, deftly drawing the laces tight, fastening the leather bracer.
“Still alive.”
“Her condition has steadied overnight.” A woman’s voice intruded then. “And her fever has lowered a little.”
Craeg’s chin snapped up, his hands stilling.
A woman he barely recognized stood a few feet away.
Coira had removed her habit and dressed in men’s clothing: leather breeches, hunting boots, a léine that reached mid-thigh, and a brown vest. The only concession to her former attire was the small wooden crucifix that hung about her neck.
For a moment Craeg merely stared.
He’d spent far too much time in the past days dreaming what Coira’s hair looked like. He’d imagined it would be dark, and it was. Yet it wasn’t shorn against her scalp as he’d expected. Instead, it hung in a dark glossy braid over one shoulder.
“She’s the same size as Fen.” Gunn spoke up, when the silence stretched out. “So she might as well borrow some of her clothes. The woman can’t go into battle in long skirts, can she?”
Craeg tore his gaze from Coira and saw that his friend now wore a tight smile.
Still speechless, Craeg glanced back at Coira. She seemed taller, leaner, and younger dressed like that.
“Coira.” The strangled edge to his voice drew him up sharply. “What weapons do ye have?”
“Just this and a knife,” she replied coolly, holding up the quarter-staff with her right hand and slapping the blade strapped to her thigh with the other. “I need nothing else.”
Watching her, Craeg’s pulse quickened. Coira appeared transformed. The woman’s self-confidence stunned him; she wasn’t putting on a brave-face. He could see the steely determination in her eyes.
Craeg shifted his attention back to Gunn’s bracers. Quickly he finished lacing them, and then he stepped back, turning to face Coira.
“I need to speak to ye,” he said firmly.
Her eyebrows arched, her gaze turning wary. “Now?”
“Aye … follow me.”
Craeg walked past the two tents, leading the way to the farthest edge of the ravine, where a thin stream of water trickled down the rock face. The air here was misty and smelled of moss. The light of the braziers and torches down the ravine barely reached here—as such, Coira’s face was heavily shadowed when he turned to face her.
“Craeg,” she began, her voice husky. “I don’t think we should—”
“I know this isn’t the time or place for this,” he cut in. He was aware of the tension in his own voice, yet he pressed on. “But since we’re about to depart for battle, I think there are a few things that need to be said.”
21
Remember
COIRA’S JAW FIRMED, although her gaze was suddenly wary. “Go on then.”
“The first thing ye need to know is that nothing about yer past bothers me,” he continued. Her lips parted as she prepared to argue with him, but Craeg pressed on. “Ye forget … I’ve seen it all. I was born in a brothel … my mother was a whore. I know what happens there, how many of the women are forced into that life.” He paused and drew in a steadying breath. “I also know that Duncan MacKinnon is a pig. He took his perversions, his hatred for women, and made them yer burden. I vow that he’ll pay for that.”
Coira’s throat bobbed, altho
ugh when she replied, her voice was firm. “We’ll both make him pay, Craeg,” she murmured.
“Aye,” Craeg replied, vehement now. “Ye too want reckoning … I understand that.” He took a step closer to her, half expecting her to back away, but instead Coira held her ground. “Once he’s dead … once ye trust men again … ye will heal.”
She swallowed, her gaze gleaming now as tears threatened.
Craeg’s throat thickened. He didn’t want to make her weep, but the words inside him had to be spoken. “Time moves against us now,” he said, softening his tone. “I don’t want to go into battle without knowing what it’s like to kiss ye.”
Her chest heaved, and even though they weren’t touching, Craeg felt the tension emanating off her.
“I’m still a nun,” she finally managed the words, although her voice sounded choked.
Craeg’s mouth curved. “Not dressed like that, ye aren’t.”
“A habit doesn’t make a woman a nun … but the vows she takes.”
“Aye.” He moved closer still to her, unable to stop himself. “But ye have left the order, have ye not?” He raised a hand then and brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek—as he had that night in that moonlit glade. How he’d longed to kiss her back then, and the yearning had not lessened. It had grown to a hunger that now dominated every waking thought.
He felt her tremble, heard the whisper of her quickened breathing. She was fighting the hunger too—he knew it.
Heat pulsed between them, as did an ocean of things unsaid. Words were pointless now though. There were too many reasons why he shouldn’t be touching her, shouldn’t want her with his body and soul. But none of them would stop him now.
With a stifled groan, Craeg cupped her face with his hands and leaned in, his lips brushing hers. It was a tentative kiss, feather-light. He didn’t want to startle her or force this moment.
Craeg brushed his lips across Coira’s once more, giving her the chance to pull away, yet she didn’t. And when a soft, breathy sigh escaped her, Craeg covered Coira’s mouth with his.