Page 39 of Fallen
She then lowered her quarter-staff, picked up her basket and looped it over one arm, and followed Farlan into the trees without a backward glance.
Hidden in a clump of bracken, the watcher observed the two nuns part ways.
He saw Sister Coira follow the man into the woods, while Sister Mina continued on her way along the path leading down the hillside toward the abbey.
Heart racing, Brother Ian rose to his feet and dusted off his habit. He’d shadowed the healer for days now, watching and waiting for her to transgress once more. Following someone without being spotted was a challenging task, but the monk was small and slight, and could easily make himself invisible if he so wished.
Secretly, he’d begun to question Father Camron’s fixation with this nun—until now.
Excitement fluttered in Brother Ian’s belly. The abbot was right. The nun did fraternize with outlaws. He’d seen it with his own eyes.
Drawing his robes close, the young monk crept away through the bracken.
16
Yer Luck Has Run Out
COIRA FOLLOWED THE outlaw and wondered if she had taken leave of her senses. The heady rush of resolve that had made her turn her back on Kilbride was now ebbing, and she was starting to doubt her decision.
There’s still time. Ye can turn around and flee back to the abbey.
Back to MacKinnon.
The thought made her keep walking, although her heart leaped with each step. The people she was traveling to help were those who’d risen up against the clan-chief, those who would one day bring him down.
She wanted to be part of that. She’d gladly help those who rebelled against a clan-chief who over-taxed his people, who controlled these lands by terrifying folk into submission. His time was coming to an end, and she would join the rebellion against him.
Heat spread across Coira’s chest, recklessness catching fire in her veins. Suddenly, she knew in her bones that she’d made the right decision.
The time had come to act.
Reaching into the small leather pouch upon her belt, Coira’s fingers curled around a silver ring. After arriving at Kilbride, she’d been forced to remove the ring from her right hand, and had instead donned a fine gold band when she’d taken her vows—a new ring that marked her as a Bride of Christ. But she had always kept her mother’s ring close, even though she knew she really shouldn’t. It was the only thing she had left from her past—the only link to her parents.
And although she still donned her habit, the desire to wear the old ring once more swept over Coira.
Removing the gold band, she put it away in the pouch and slipped her mother’s ring onto her right hand. A smile spread across her face.
Once again, instinct had taken over, and she would follow where it led.
Farlan took her to a glade where a saddled horse awaited them. Wordlessly, he untied the gelding and tightened its girth, before he sprang up onto the saddle. Reaching down, he helped Coira up behind him.
To keep her seat, she squeezed with her thighs as the outlaw urged the horse into a bouncing trot and then a jolting canter.
Moments later they were flying through the trees, heading east.
Duncan MacKinnon stirred the turnip and kale pottage around the earthen bowl before him.
Stew … again.
Maybe that was why his appetite was poor today. Did these nuns eat anything else but stew and coarse bread?
Putting down his spoon, Duncan reached for his cup of ale and took a sip. He didn’t feel himself. He’d awoken feeling listless and hadn’t broken his fast with a plate of bannocks as he usually did. Now the sight of food made him feel queasy, and his belly had developed a faint ache.
He hoped the mutton stew he’d eaten the day before hadn’t made him sick.
Next to him, Father Camron spooned great mouthfuls of stew into his mouth. Heavyset with an appetite of three men, the abbot certainly hadn’t complained of the fare at Kilbride. However, he was obviously used to eating this way.
Gaze drifting around the table, Duncan searched for Sister Coira. He knew that she took her meals with the senior nuns at the abbess’s table, yet he hadn’t seen her enter the refectory.
