Page 65 of Awoken
“Aye,” Ross replied, not smiling back. “Ye know as well as I what he’s capable of.”
Broderick’s smile faded, and a muscle bunched in his jaw. Leanna wondered what part he’d played in the torture of Brochan.
Silence fell once more, and then the warrior nodded. “So be it, Ross … I never saw ye here.” He stepped forward, reaching out an arm. “Ye might as well enjoy this happiness while it lasts … for ye are a long time dead.”
Relief washed over Leanna, turning her knees weak under her. Slowly, she let out the breath she’d been holding. She couldn’t believe it—he was letting them leave.
Ross’s face relaxed for the first time since Carr Broderick had stepped out of the shadows. He moved toward the warrior and clasped Broderick’s arm with his, before pulling him into a bear hug. “Go well, my friend,” he murmured. “I will never forget this.”
The high walls of Kilbride rose against the washed-out morning sky, the peaked roof of its kirk piercing the heavens. Eyes upon his destination, Duncan MacKinnon slowed his courser to a brisk trot. His men fanned out behind him. The jangling of iron bits, the thud of hoof beats, and the creak of leather intruded upon the quiet of the dawn.
However, Duncan didn’t pay the sunrise any mind—for his attention was wholly upon the abbey. Fury churned in his gut, making it ache dully. The pain had been there ever since they’d departed from Duncaith the evening before.
Leanna and Ross weren’t there.
The new chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat had given him a frosty welcome, yet MacKinnon hadn’t cared. He’d ridden into the bailey, swung down from his mount, and demanded that MacDonald hand over the fugitives.
Bard MacDonald had stridden out to meet him, white-lipped with rage. They’d nearly come to blows out there in the bailey, in front of warriors and servants—yet at the end of the altercation, Duncan had been forced to accept that Leanna and Ross had not fled to Duncaith as he’d thought.
MacDonald had been hostile, but there’d been no lie in his eyes. Instead, Duncan had seen concern for his niece.
He wasn’t harboring her.
So that left Kilbride—the only stone yet unturned. Duncan had sent Broderick out to cover the south coast, but part of the clan-chief still believed that Leanna and Ross would have sought out the safety of allies.
The abbess of Kilbride had already shown herself to be a liar—the woman had willingly hidden knowledge of Annella Fraser and Gavin MacNichol just under a year earlier.
She’d looked him in the eye and told him they’d never returned to Kilbride. But MacKinnon hadknownshe was lying.
If the woman tried the same this time, he’d cut out her tongue.
“Mother Shona!” An excited young female voice intruded, drawing the abbess out of the book she was reading.
With a sigh, the abbess glanced up. This time of the morning was Mother Shona’s quiet time—one of the few moments of the day when she could sit and relax. Lauds, morning mass, and the first meal of the day had all been completed, and she had a brief respite before the daily chapter meeting.
Seated upon a chair in her hall, she’d been immersed in a history about the kings of Scotland, and had just been reading about King Duncan the Second, who’d ruled Scotland over three hundred years earlier—a military man who hadn’t been skilled in the art of peace-weaving. Mother Shona had been musing what a pity is was that Scotland no longer had a strong ruler to stand against the English when she’d been interrupted.
“What is it?” she called out.
“We have visitors, Mother Shona … MacKinnon is here!”
The abbess closed her book with a snap and rose to her feet. Two days after Sister Leanna’s departure for Duncaith, she’d received word that the nun’s escort had been attacked on its journey south. Sister Leanna had disappeared, and there’d been no news of her since.
Placing the book on the mantelpiece, Mother Shona picked up her skirts and hurried toward the door.
Outside she found Sister Firtha—a young novice—waiting for her. The nun’s pale blue eyes were wide, and she was shifting nervously from foot to foot. Without thinking, she dropped onto one knee, as was the custom when approaching the abbess.
Distracted, Mother Shona hastily made the sign of the cross and moved past her. “Where is he?”
“MacKinnon’s standing before the kirk, Mother Shona,” the novice gasped, clambering to her feet. “And he’s in a foul temper.”
The abbess clenched her jaw. “Of course he is.”
30
No Stone Unturned
DUNCAN MACKINNON STOOD, legs akimbo and his hands folded across his chest, watching Mother Shona approach.
