Page 18 of Fallen
A frown marred her brow when she thought about her patient. With each passing day, his presence here grew riskier for them all. Craeg kept insisting he should leave, and yet he still wasn’t well enough to do so. Coira hoped Sister Mina would be careful when she went to the infirmary.
Strangely, she felt a little envious that the novice would get to spend time with Craeg this evening, would hear of his escapades with his band of outlaws. She liked hearing his stories, but tonight she’d do penance instead.
Kneeling upon the stone floor of the kirk, Coira winced. The flagstones were ice-cold. Despite that the warmer months were now upon them, the air inside the kirk was chill, and it remained so even on the hottest days in summer.
It was going to be a cold, uncomfortable night.
She had no cushion to protect her knees from the cold stone, and after a short while, her kneecaps began to ache, numbness creeping up her thighs. But, hands clasped before her, Coira didn’t move. Head bowed, she murmured prayers of penance, asking the Lord for forgiveness for her sins.
However, she didn’t ask forgiveness for practicing with her quarter-staff—only that she’d let selfishness blind her to the risk she was taking.
She was truly sorry about that. Sorry too that she’d compromised Mother Shona.
Slowly, the tension ebbed out of her. As always, when she prayed in the kirk, Coira felt God’s presence settle upon her like a warm, comforting blanket. She hadn’t been devout before entering the abbey, but the kindness she’d found here had made her change her views.
The evening stretched on, and eventually the witching hour approached. Twice Coira heard someone enter the kirk. The first time, it was a gentle presence, and although Coira didn’t look up from her prayers, she sensed that it was Mother Shona, checking in on her. The second visitor arrived much later, at the time of night when the world seemed to hold its breath. The heavy scuff of sandaled feet on stone approaching from behind warned her that it was not the abbess or any of the other nuns.
A man approached.
Coira’s spine stiffened, her body growing taut. Even after all these years, her instincts were honed around men. After over a decade now, she still didn’t trust them. It couldn’t be Craeg, for the man was barely able to rise from his sickbed. No, she knew, without even glancing up, who her visitor was.
Father Camron.
The footsteps halted behind her, and she heard the rasp of a man’s breathing. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Ye are a wicked woman, Sister Coira. Don’t think yer averted gaze, and yer feeble apologies, have fooled me. I see through it all.”
Coira’s mouth went dry, her heart hammering against her ribs. Wisely, she kept her gaze downcast, her hands clasped tightly in prayer. She squeezed her eyes shut and continued to murmur her prayer. “Please, Lord, forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
“Empty words,” the abbot murmured. “But lucky for ye, the abbess guards ye all with the fierceness of a mother hen.” She heard the whisper of his feet on stone as he moved closer still. Coira’s skin prickled, her breathing accelerating.
If he touches me, I’ll defend myself.
“But be warned.” His voice lowered further still. “I’m watching ye.”
8
Until My Last Breath
“I WAS HOPING to see ye, Sister,” Craeg greeted Coira with a smile when she pulled aside the hanging and stepped inside the alcove. However, an instant later, his expression grew serious. “Ye look as if ye haven’t slept?”
Coira huffed and let the hanging fall behind her. “I haven’t.”
The air was close in here. She didn’t like it. Coira believed that the sick should have free-flowing air around them, for it chased away ill humors. But it was too risky to set this patient up near the window. One of Father Camron’s monks could peek into the infirmary at any time. The hanging wouldn’t keep prying eyes at bay forever, but it was the best she could do in the meantime.
Stiffly, for her knees ached with each step, Coira made her way toward the sleeping pallet. In one hand she carried a bowl of warm water, in the other her basket of healing herbs.
Observing her patient, Coira was pleased to see that color had returned to Craeg’s cheeks. A sheen of sweat no longer covered his skin, and his eyes weren’t fever bright as they had been. He sat, propped up on a nest of pillows.
The man exuded an impatient energy—Coira could see he wasn’t the type used to being forced to stay still.
“I sometimes have trouble sleeping too,” he admitted with a boyish grin. “Maybe it’s the result of a guilty conscience.”
“I sleep like a bairn,” Coira replied, arching an eyebrow. “It wasn’t restlessness that caused my sleepless night. I transgressed yesterday, and so had to spend the night praying as penance.”
Hs gaze widened. “A nun who doesn’t follow the rules … I’m intrigued.”
“The abbot wasn’t,” Coira answered, breaking eye contact as she set the basket down on the end of the bed. “How are ye feeling?”
Craeg didn’t answer right away, and Coira eventually glanced up, frustrated that he wasn’t letting her change the subject. She was tired and irritable. She didn’t want to discuss herself. Their gazes held for a long moment, before his smile faded. “Much better, I guess. My side doesn’t hurt as much as it did. Can I go now?” She caught the restlessness in his voice.
