Page 12 of Fallen
Coira.
Every time he stepped into this brothel, he felt a pang of longing for her. His obsession with Lady Leanna had distracted him over the last few years, but Coira was always there, a shadow from his past. And Duncan’s recent visit to Kilbride Abbey had brought her back into his thoughts.
He was sure he’d seen her there.
It was true that the black habits and veils the nuns wore made them difficult to tell apart, yet he’d never seen anyone with eyes the color of Coira’s—violet. And that nun, long-limbed and broad-shouldered, who’d stood at the back of the group while he’d confronted the abbess about Leanna’s whereabouts, had violet eyes.
She’d also watched him with contempt and fear upon her lovely face.
It could be her.
One day, MacKinnon intended to go back to Kilbride Abbey—and when he did, he’d investigate.
A whore shouldn’t be hiding in the guise of a nun anyway. A smile curved Duncan’s mouth then as he remembered the games he used to play with Coira. If that woman had, indeed, been her, it was a real irony.
“More wine?” The serving lass drew near him once again, and with a jolt, Duncan realized that he’d drained his drink without even realizing it.
He nodded and held out the goblet for her to fill. As he did so, he noticed that the lass didn’t look well. A light sheen of sweat covered her thin face, and the hand that poured the wine trembled slightly. When she moved away, the girl hunched, as if her belly was in pain.
She was a plain-looking wench, Duncan observed, and on the brink of womanhood. He certainly wouldn’t be asking for her to warm his bed.
“MacKinnon … if ye are ready?” Maude descended the stairwell from the upper levels. “Yer woman awaits … upon the top floor … last room on the right.”
Duncan nodded before draining his new goblet of wine in a few gulps. He then rose to his feet and shoved it at the pale-faced serving lass. Without a word, he strode past Maude and climbed the stairs to the upper levels. As he went, he heard Maude’s voice, harsh now that the customer was out of sight. “Stand up straight, Fiona … what’s wrong with ye today!”
Reaching the top floor, Duncan strode toward his destination. His belly tightened in anticipation, the ache in his groin intensifying as he imagined what awaited him.
He strode along the narrow hallway, the wooden floor creaking underfoot, till he was before the last room on the right. Then, he tore the door open and stepped through the threshold.
A small lass, barely old enough to be called a woman, sat perched upon the bed. She watched him, blue eyes huge upon a winsome, heart-shaped face. A black habit and veil swathed her slender form.
Duncan halted, his gaze drinking her in. A moment later, a delighted smile stretched his face. Maude had done well indeed; he could smell this lass’s fear.
Still grinning, he kicked the door shut behind him.
5
Happy Endings
“I TOLD YE I would return.” Father Camron picked up his spoon and viewed the bowl of stew before him with thinly veiled distaste. “I warned ye that yer behavior would be investigated, Mother.”
Heat rose in the pit of Coira’s belly as she listened to these words, and her fingers clenched around her own spoon. She couldn’t believe this man’s arrogance, his presumption.
However, at the head of the table, Mother Shona appeared unruffled by the abbot’s inflammatory words. “Ye are always welcome here, Father,” she said, meeting his eye. “We have nothing to hide.”
Coira’s pulse accelerated, and she quelled the urge to exchange glances with the other nuns at the table.
They all knew that statement was a lie.
There was much Father Camron didn’t know—much he couldn’t know. If there was anyone in the outside world they had to protect themselves against, it was this man. The abbess had confided in Coira that Gavin MacNichol had offended the abbot’s pride when he’d gone to Scorrybreac to corner Ella about leaving the order. To compound matters, when Father Camron had arrived at Kilbride, he’d not gotten the welcome he’d expected. Mother Shona had let her temper get the better of her for once, and had given him further offence.
She would be regretting those rash words now.
Father Camron was a man who nursed grievances like a bruise. He never forgot a slight.
“I have informed the Pope about the goings-on here,” the abbot continued, undaunted by the abbess’s sanguine reaction. “MacKinnon sent word to me that yet another of yer nuns has left the order … this is highly irregular.”
Mother Shona inclined her head, favoring the abbot with a long-suffering look. “Did he also tell ye the reason for Sister Leanna’s departure?”
