Page 14 of Fallen
Sister Coira didn’t answer him, although her face now wore a wintry expression. Craeg knew he wasn’t giving a good account of his band, yet he forced himself on. Nonetheless, it was an effort to keep eye contact. His throat thickened as he continued. “The man, Brochan, under-estimated my brother—we all did. Before he killed Brochan, MacKinnon tortured him … and discovered where we were hiding.”
Craeg dragged a shaky hand through his hair and sank back into the nest of pillows behind him. “Ross and Leanna helped us defend our camp when MacKinnon’s men attacked, but it wasn’t enough to save us. Many of my band fell that day, and I took the arrow that landed me here.”
Sister Coira was watching him, her gaze shuttered. Craeg thought she might comment, but when she didn’t, he pushed on, concluding his tale. “When the fight turned against us, I told Ross and Leanna to run. I hope they managed to elude MacKinnon.”
He stopped speaking then, his eyes flickering shut. Their conversation, short though it was, had drained him, the weight of guilt settling over him. Brochan had been one of his closest friends. Aye, he’d acted foolishly, but that didn’t make Craeg feel any less to blame for his end.
“They’re safe,” Sister Coira said finally. “Mother Shona received a letter around two weeks ago. We don’t know where they are now … but they’ve left Skye and made a new life together.”
Craeg’s eyes snapped open, and a little of the heaviness lifted. “That’s good,” he replied, his mouth rising at the corners into a half-smile. “Ye could see Campbell was in love with the lass. At least life has happy endings for some of us.”
It was her turn to incline her head then, her gaze questioning. “Aye,” the nun murmured, favoring him with a rare smile that was tinged with sadness. “Leanna wasn’t suited to be a nun. Her father sent her to Kilbride only in order to protect her from yer brother; her heart was never in it. I miss her all the same though.”
Again, Craeg felt a pull toward the woman before him. What a contradiction she was: at once strong and capable, yet with a softness, a vulnerability, just beneath the surface.
“What about ye, Sister Coira?” he asked finally. “Why did ye take the veil?”
The moment he asked the question, Craeg realized he’d overstepped. It was like watching a door slam shut between them. Sister Coira took an abrupt step back, her jaw tightening and a shadow passing over her eyes.
“I came here for a better life,” she replied, her tone clipped. With that, the nun turned, pushed aside the curtain, and departed the alcove, leaving Craeg with his own company.
6
Sickness
DREW MACKINNON STEPPED out of her bed-chamber and closed the door firmly behind her. Leaning up against it, she inhaled deeply, a chill seeping through her. Behind her, she could hear the rumble of the healer’s voice and the weak sounds of his patient’s reply.
Mother Mary,save us.
Drew clenched her eyes shut and wished she was a pious woman. Her mother had tried to instill religious fervor within her years earlier, but the hours spent kneeling on the stone floor of the kirk, praying for forgiveness for her numerous sins, hadn’t made the slightest difference. If anything, it had made Drew rebel further.
But a strong faith would be welcome now.
“Lady Drew?” A gruff male voice intruded. Drew’s eyes snapped open, and she glanced left to where Carr Broderick had halted. He was watching her, his grey-blue eyes clouded with concern. “Are ye unwell?”
Swallowing, Drew shook her head. “No … but my handmaid, Tyra, is.” She paused there before forcing the words out. “The healer thinks she has the plague.”
Plague. The word hung between them like a death sentence.
Broderick’s features tightened. “Is he sure?”
“The signs are there.” Bile stung the back of Drew’s throat. “Her fingertips have blackened, and she has swellings under her arms and at her groin.”
Did she imagine it, or did Broderick’s face pale at this description? The symptoms of the sickness that was now sweeping across Scotland were clear enough.
There could be no doubt.
“How is he treating her?” he asked, the rough edge to the warrior’s voice betraying his alarm.
Drew screwed up her face. “In the usual fashion … not that it seems to do much good. Blood-letting and a tonic of vinegar and heather honey. He’s rubbed raw onion over the swellings on her skin … the chamber reeks of it.”
Their gazes fused then and held for a long moment. It was unusual for Drew to interact with her brother’s right-hand in such a fashion. She and Carr Broderick had lived under the same roof for over fifteen years now, but until recently their paths rarely crossed. However, with Ross Campbell’s disappearance, Broderick had taken on his role as Captain of the Dunan Guard. These days, the warrior was never far from her brother’s side.
“I should go and inform Duncan,” she said, breaking the tense silence between them. “It’s the first sickness inside the broch … he will want to know.”
“I will tell him, milady,” Broderick replied with a brusque nod.
The tension that had turned Drew’s shoulders to stone eased just a little. She’d been avoiding her brother recently, and had taken to having most of her meals alone in her solar. It wasn’t like her to shrink from confrontation—but she needed time to think, to plan.
