Page 6 of Fallen
Coira found the abbess in her hall. At this time of day, Mother Shona often shut herself away for a period of study and quiet contemplation, while the nuns took an opportunity to rest before the last of the afternoon chores and Vespers.
Mother Shona was seated in a high-backed chair by the hearth, where a lump of peat glowed. She motioned for Coira to enter.
Crossing the floor, Coira lowered herself onto one knee before the abbess. Mother Shona then made the sign of the cross above Coira’s bent head. Once she’d blessed her, the abbess gestured to the seat opposite. “How is he?” she asked without preamble.
“Very ill,” Coira replied. “I removed a splinter of wood from an arrow wound to his left flank, which had caused the problem … it should have been attended to long before today.”
Mother Shona nodded, her brown eyes shadowing. She was a small woman with a deceptively gentle demeanor that belied the steel underneath. Around twenty years Coira’s senior, the abbess was the strongest person Coira had ever known. Thanks to her, Coira had grown hardy, both in body and spirit. She had learned to defend herself, and had found solace in her life as a Bride of Christ.
“Did he speak to ye?” the abbess finally asked.
Coira shook her head. “He was in a fever sleep when I attended him … and remains in one.”
“He was delirious when we found him earlier,” Mother Shona replied, her expression still veiled, “but I managed to glean his name.”
Coira frowned. “Sister Mina told me ye all didn’t know his identity?”
“I decided some news is best not shared,” the abbess replied with a wry glint in her eye. “The name ‘Craeg the Bastard’ is not one to be bandied about in these parts.”
Coira went still, the cold, fluttery feeling she’d experienced upon entering the infirmary at noon returning.
“No wonder I recognized him,” she whispered.
The abbess’s face turned stern. “I’m surprised the others didn’t. The similarity is striking.”
For a moment the two women merely watched each other. The intense look upon the abbess’s face made Coira tense. Sometimes she swore the woman could read minds. Mother Shona was the only soul in the abbey who knew her history, knew that she’d fled the life of a whore. However, she didn’t know the whole story—that Coira had run from Duncan MacKinnon’s brutality.
She didn’t know that Coira’s heart had nearly stopped when she’d set eyes upon her patient.
“I heard there was a skirmish … to the south … around a month ago … between MacKinnon and outlaws,” Coira said, breaking the brittle silence between them. “The outlaw leader has likely been carrying the wound since then.”
Mother Shona shook her head. “It’s a miracle he still lives.”
Coira let out a long exhale. “Aye … but it’s a risk having him here. There’s a price on that man’s head that would tempt many. If MacKinnon ever discovers him here, all of us are in jeopardy.”
“I’m aware of that,” the abbess replied. Her voice was unusually weary. “But he came to us out of desperation. We couldn’t turn him away.”
Of course they couldn’t. Coira had never refused to tend anyone, and had been pleased to hear that MacKinnon’s bastard brother was causing the clan-chief so much trouble of late.
However, keeping him at Kilbride was another matter. Here, he risked bringing the wolf to their door.
“So, what should we do?” Coira asked, almost dreading the answer.
“We will keep him here, out of sight.” The abbess now adopted a determined expression that Coira knew well. “Unfortunately, news of an injured man’s arrival has already spread through the abbey, but no one beyond its walls knows he’s here, yet. If he survives his injuries, as soon as he’s able, he will have to leave.”
Coira nodded. Mother Shona’s decision didn’t surprise her. Neither of them was going to turn an injured man away, and yet the sooner they rid themselves of Craeg the Bastard, the better.
After supper, Coira discovered that she couldn’t settle. She’d filled her belly with bread, cheese, and onion broth; slaked her thirst with a cup of ale; and tried to rest—but she found that she was full of nervous energy.
Instead, she decided to practice with her quarter-staff.
Having MacKinnon’s half-brother here at Kilbride had put her on edge. It didn’t matter how much she steeled herself before visiting Craeg, every time she set eyes on the man the likeness between him and MacKinnon made a shiver slide down her spine.
However, unlike the clan-chief, Craeg was loved rather than reviled by the people of this territory. There were a number of stories about this man that had almost become folklore upon Skye. Despite that he was a criminal, Craeg had recently become a savior figure for the folk here, the only one who’d stand up against the clan-chief’s iron fist. His behavior was audacious and foolhardy to the extreme. He boldly attacked supply wagons, couriers, and even MacKinnon’s own men, stealing food and silver, most of which he gave away to the poor. MacKinnon had been hunting him for a while now, but Craeg always seemed to slip free of his net.
Maybe this time he wasn’t going to be so fortunate.
Outdoors in the misty gloaming, Coira noted that tension had turned the muscles in her neck and shoulders into planks of wood. The evening chores had been done and Compline completed, and the abbey had just entered the Great Silence—a period of quiet reflection during which the nuns did not converse until after Mass the following morning.
