Page 2 of Bride of the Mad Laird
“I dinnae wish tae speak harshly tae ye lass, but if ye dinnae make haste to be out of here as soon as ye can, we’ll have little choice.” She raised her eyes to the sky. “It grows dark and ye’ll be able tae make yer way across tae the Isle of Mull under cover of night. I’ve sent one of our garden workers tae the shore tae find a fisherman tae row ye across.”
She turned to go. “I must check on Sister Morag. Dinnae waste time. I will see ye at the gate before ye leave. Dinnae fash. Ye will be just fine and everything will go according tae plan.” With that she darted off.
The clothes Mother Una had bundled for her to take were strange and unfamiliar. She was used to wearing only nun’s clothing consisting of a loose, woolen, black robe, which covered her from head to toe, with the veils and coverings of a nun. She swayed and clutched the bedpost to keep herself upright. This was the only home she was familiar with.
Florie, one of the younger novices, braided her fair hair before concealing it under the plain white veil. Lyra was reaching for her cloak when she heard raised voices and a terrible sound of splintering timber. This was followed by a series of piercing screams.
Heart hammering, she raced down the stairs and along the passageway, her cloak in her hands, with Florie close behind carrying her bundle and the carved wooden box containing her few treasures.
Sister Fiona came hurtling toward her, her robes and veil flying, a stream of blood coursing down her face from a cut on her cheek.
“Dinnae venture out there,” she said breathlessly. “There’s men… four of them. They are brutes. They’ve smashed their way through our heavy gate and are, even now, confronting Maither Una.”
Lyra’s hand flew to her mouth, while Florie tucked herself close behind her. “What dae they want?”
“They’ve named ye, Lyra, and they say they are tae take ye away.”
There was another stifled shriek and a second nun came tearing along the corridor towards them. “Quick, make haste, ye must come tae the other gate and make yer escape afore the men find ye here.”
“What of Maither Una?”
The nun groaned. “I am afeared fer her, Lyra. They have her arms pinned behind her back and are threatening her if she daesnae take them tae ye.” Her eyes widened in horror. “Already one of the brutes has slapped her and threatens worse.”
“Who are these men who are prepared tae violate this sacred place? Nay good, self-respecting Scottish warrior would dae such a thing.”
“I dinnae ken.” Sister Fiona shook her head. “They are dressed all in dun with darker britches and cloaks. They’ve nay plaid tae identify them.” She glanced at Lyra. “I dinnae wish tae afear ye, but they have the look of rough Gallowglass fighters. Soldiers for hire. Dangerous men with nay allegiance.”
Lyra hauled in a deep breath and let it flow out slowly, attempting to steady herself. She squared her shoulders. Although she was trembling all over, she held her head up and raced forward with Florie at her heels.
She was met with a horrifying scene when she arrived, breathless, at the entrance to the Priory. The large, studded, oaken gate had almost been torn from its iron and much of it lay in splinters beside the wall. Beside it, in a bloody heap, lay the bodies of the two men whose job it was to keep guard over the entrance to the Priory.
Mother Una stood stoically in the center of the stone-paved vestibule, a purple bruise already forming on her face where she’d been struck. Even so, she held herself straight, eyeing the four men down the length of her nose, a look of pure disdain etched on here proud features.
Florie squealed and dropped the bundle and the carved box she’d been carrying, turned on her heel and dashed back the way they’d come, leaving Lyra and Mother Una to face the men.
The Prioress swiveled as Lyra entered, her eyes widened and her teeth clamped her lower lip as if to hold in the words she wished to speak. She gave an all but imperceptible nod, darting her eyes toward the men.
Terrified, Lyra pressed forward despite the clear warning, praying she could divert the men’s attention from Mother Una.
Mother Una screamed. “Run, Lyra, dinnae let these brutes take ye.”
The men exchanged glances and one of the ruffians stepped forward, a grin on his coarse features half obscured by a shaggy, red, beard. He licked his lips. “If ye’re Lyra, ye’re tae come wi’ us.”
Lyra swiveled and made a frantic dash for the passageway, Red-Beard striding after her. She shrieked helplessly as he seized her arm in his rough grip.
He grunted a laugh and turned to the other three men who were standing by, grinning. “We’ll have some fun wi’ this one. She’s a right beauty.”
He turned back to Lyra, his eyes raking her with a hungry expression.
She shook her head summoning every scrap of courage she could. “I’ll nae travel wi’ ye. This is me home and I’ll nae leave it.”
The man merely laughed. He stepped forward and with what seemed like one movement of his giant hand, slapped Mother Una hard across her face, tightening his iron grip on Lyra’s arm.
Lyra struggled, raking Red-Beard’s arm with the sharp nails of her free hand. This seemed to amuse him even more and he grabbed her with his two hands and cruelly yanked her arms behind her back.
She bit down hard on her lower lip to prevent herself from crying out. There was no way she would give these savages the satisfaction of seeing her fear and pain.
“Ye’ll come wi’ us. Make it easy. Dinnae resist.”
