Page 9 of Fallen
Craeg nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He’d taken a few wounds over the years, but even the one on his face hadn’t hurt as much as this did. He didn’t want to embarrass himself over it though, so he kept his jaw clamped shut.
“I’m curious,” the nun said, as she continued her tortuous work. “How is it that ye and yer band have eluded MacKinnon for so long? I’d have thought there were only so many places ye can hide.”
She was trying to distract him, he realized. All the same, Craeg appreciated the gesture.
“The heart of MacKinnon lands is a wild place,” he replied through clenched teeth. “There are many hidden corners where few men have set foot … I have discovered them.”
“The people of this land must truly love ye,” she replied with a shake of her head. “But don’t ye worry all the same that one of them might betray ye?”
Despite the red-hot agony that pulsed down his left side, Craeg’s body tensed. One of his men already had, barely a month earlier. However, this wasn’t the time to discuss it.
“Not really,” he grunted. “MacKinnon has done a fine job of making himself the most hated man upon Skye.”
“He has,” she agreed, “but silver has a way of making folk forget such things.”
Their gazes met, and he saw the keen intelligence in those violet eyes. An instant later the nun rose to her feet and wiped her hands upon a damp cloth.
“That’s done for now,” she said with a half-smile. “Ye did well.”
Somehow Craeg managed a wan smile of his own. “Aye, thanks to ye distracting me. I’d tell ye that ye have the gentlest touch this side of the Black Cuillins… but I’d be lying. I’ve never been in so much pain.”
Her mouth curved then into a proper smile, and if Craeg had thought the nun was beautiful before, she was positively radiant now. That smile illuminated her face like winter sun emerging through a bank of frozen fog. For a moment Craeg merely stared at her, entranced. Eventually, when he spoke, his voice had a slight husk to it. “So as ye will know, my name is Craeg. May I know yers?”
The nun’s smile faded, although her eyes were still warm. “I am Sister Coira,” she replied.
Coira stepped out of the infirmary into the misty dawn and raised an unsteady hand to the center of her chest. As she suspected, her heart was racing.
Mother Mary … it’s like looking upon MacKinnon’s twin.
The man had been civil and respectful in his manner, so different to the clan-chief. But it didn’t matter that Craeg wasn’t his brother, he still unnerved her. The similarity in their looks was eerie—although she’d noted a few differences.
Firstly, his eyes. She’d expected them to be grey, like Duncan MacKinnon’s. But the eyes that stared back at her this morning were a deep moss green—as different from MacKinnon’s as mid-winter was to mid-summer. Even shadowed with pain, there had been wry humor and a large dose of arrogance in them, which wasn’t surprising. She hadn’t met a warrior who wasn’t arrogant.
His voice was markedly different to MacKinnon’s as well. It was much lower and deeper. Just like his eyes, the outlaw’s voice held a warmth that the clan-chief’s had always lacked.
And yet, standing outside the infirmary, Coira struggled to regain her equilibrium.
She wished there was another healer in the abbey—another nun who could help him besides her.
Goose, Coira chided herself.He’s just a man. Ignore who he is and treat him like any other. She walked away from the infirmary, and toward the refectory where bread and beer would be served to break the nuns’ fast.
Truthfully, she had no appetite. She usually enjoyed all her meals, for she worked hard and was rarely idle during the day. But this morning, her encounter with the outlaw had left her shaken.
Her only solace was that she didn’t think the man had picked up on her reaction to him. He was in too much pain.
Lost in brooding thoughts, Coira circuited the complex, and was about to join the flood of nuns who were entering the refectory, when the clang of iron echoed across the yard.
Coira’s step faltered. Someone was at the gates and had just let the knocker fall.
Kilbride had visitors.
Glancing around her, she saw that a few of the other nuns had halted, including Sister Elspeth, one of the older women who’d been here long before Coira’s arrival at the abbey. The nun wore an expression of constant disapproval, her small mouth pursed, her eyes narrowed. She drew herself up now, irritation vibrating through her thin body, and when she spoke, her voice held a querulous edge. “Who dares bother us at this hour?”
Coira didn’t reply, as she realized the question was probably rhetorical. With a huff of irritation, Sister Elspeth picked up the long skirts of her habit and hurried across the dirt yard toward the gates. Without thinking, Coira fell in behind her.
Once she reached the gates, Sister Elspeth drew open the small window that sat at eye-height. Coira couldn’t see what the older nun was looking at, but judging by the way Sister Elspeth went rigid, she hadn’t liked what lay beyond.
“Who is it?” Coira whispered.
