Page 34 of Fallen
Years had passed since she’d been this physically near him, but the man could still instill terror in her.
It wasn’t Coira the clan-chief sat next to this evening, but Sister Magda, at the far end of the dais. The sisters and their guests—the clan-chief and the abbot—lined the long table upon the raised platform at the end of refectory. Yet, even so, MacKinnon’s presence dominated the space. Coira had deliberately avoided looking in his direction since taking her seat.
The devil is sitting at my table.
Bile bit at the back of Coira’s throat. Gaze downcast, she tried to ignore the crawling sensation that now covered her arms and chest, and the horror that made it hard to breathe.
MacKinnon is breaking bread with me.
As guests at the abbey, the abbess had been obliged to invite MacKinnon to eat with them, while extra tables and benches for his men had been dragged into the refectory. The warriors’ voices echoed loudly in what was usually a tranquil space. The other nuns and the monks were seated a few feet away, hunched over their bowls of stew, faces pale and pinched.
Coira didn’t blame them. MacKinnon and his men brought an atmosphere of aggression into what was usually a silent, peaceful time of day.
This evening the odious company had killed Coira’s appetite for her supper of mutton, leek, and carrot stew served with coarse oaten bread.
Opposite Coira, Sister Elspeth wore a sour expression as she helped herself to some bread. She disapproved of any man setting foot inside the abbey—yet now there were so many of them that they far outnumbered the women here. The abbot was forced to share the guest lodgings with the clan-chief, while the monks had shifted over to the dormitories with the nuns—something that Sister Elspeth was still fuming over. Meanwhile, MacKinnon’s men would sleep in the byre and stable complex.
You couldn’t go three paces without spying a man inside the abbey now. It had put all the sisters, including Coira, on edge.
“How long do ye plan to remain at Kilbride, MacKinnon?” Sister Elspeth’s sharp voice lashed across the table. Coira, who’d just taken a tentative mouthful of stew, nearly choked. The nun had drawn herself up and was staring down the table at the clan-chief. Her thin body vibrated with outrage—an emotion that she clearly could no longer suppress.
Long moments passed, and when MacKinnon didn’t answer, Coira chanced a look in his direction.
She immediately wished she hadn’t.
Heavens preserve her, he and Craeg looked so alike. They had the same arrogant bearing, chiseled jaw, and brooding good-looks. The shape of their mouths and noses were identical.
A hard knot clenched in Coira’s breast, her pulse speeding up, as she stared at him. Fortunately, he wasn’t looking in her direction. Instead, he watched Sister Elspeth, his expression shuttered.
However, those eyes—iron-grey—weren’t Craeg’s. MacKinnon was thinner than she remembered, his shoulders lacking the outlaw’s breadth, his face bordering on gaunt. His dark hair, although the same peat-brown as Craeg’s, was cut much shorter.
And no scar disfigured his face.
Coira’s heart calmed just a little. No, they weren’t identical. And when MacKinnon spoke once more, the gulf between the two brothers widened further.
“As long as it takes, Sister.” His mouth twisted into a sneer. “Why … do ye disapprove of our presence here?”
“I’m sure Sister Elspeth is merely curious,” Mother Shona cut in smoothly. “We aren’t used to having so many visitors, and do wonder at the reason for yer arrival … especially with so many of yer guard.”
MacKinnon shifted his attention from Sister Elspeth, who was now scowling, to the abbess. “Word has reached me that Craeg the Bastard and his band are sheltering near Kilbride,” he replied. “I’m here to find him.”
Coira flushed hot and then cold. She lowered her spoon, her heart now hammering against her ribs.
No one at the table spoke. However, Father Camron wore a shrewd expression, his gaze flicking from MacKinnon to the abbess.
“Have ye seen any of the outlaws?” MacKinnon asked after a pause, his attention never leaving the abbess. His voice had lowered, and Coira shivered. It was a tone she knew well, one that screamed ‘danger’.
Mother Shona didn’t react. Her face remained a mask of serenity, her eyes guileless. “No, we have not.”
“Are ye sure?”
“We live sheltered lives inside these walls,” the abbess replied, her voice as steady as her gaze. “The outlaws could well be nearby, and we wouldn’t know. However, none of the sisters have reported seeing anyone suspicious.”
“And yet a man from Torrin tells me that he has seen them … in the woods no more than ten furlongs from Kilbride’s walls.”
“As I said … we are sheltered here.”
Silence fell once more at the table, tension vibrating through the air. MacKinnon still stared the abbess down although Coira noted how the muscles in his jaw flexed. He was angry, and suspected that Mother Shona was hiding something.
