Page 20 of Fallen
“He knew who ye were?”
“Aye … everyone in Dunan did.”
Coira swallowed hard before picking up the mortar and carrying it over to Craeg. Perched on the edge of the straw-stuffed mattress, she began packing his cleaned wound with the paste. She wished now that she hadn’t been so curious about Craeg’s past. Even the mention of Duncan MacKinnon made a chill shiver down her spine.
“Our father didn’t help matters,” Craeg continued, a bitter note in his voice. “He acknowledged who I was … in front of Duncan … deliberately provoking him.”
Coira’s chin raised, her gaze narrowing. “Why would he do that?”
“He wanted his son—hislegitimateson—to prove himself, I guess. He wished to see if Duncan would be threatened by me … and he was.” Craeg paused there, his eyelids fluttering closed, his face going into spasm. Coira knew that although she was trying to be gentle, she was hurting him as she applied the salve.
“It’s alright, I’m almost done here,” she murmured.
Craeg nodded, and she saw that sweat had beaded upon his forehead. She didn’t know how the man thought he was going to get up and walk out of here today. His injury, and the sickness that had followed, had seriously weakened him.
“We fought once, in the brothel,” Craeg said finally, his voice rough with pain. He continued to keep his eyes shut, his big body tense while Coira completed her ministrations. “He was rough with one of the lasses, and she was in tears. I confronted him downstairs, and he attacked me.” A smile curved Craeg’s mouth then, unexpectedly. “I split his lip, blackened his eye, and sent him away.” The mirth faded as quickly as it had appeared. “And that was when the tide turned against me.
“Until then, I’d been liked in Dunan … but as the months passed, the mood changed. Vendors refused to serve me at market, women spat at me when I passed them on the street, and when business slowed atThe Goat and Goose, I was blamed. I’d just passed my sixteenth winter when I found myself living rough, sleeping in alleyways and begging for crumbs. No one in Dunan would give me a job.”
Coira sucked in a breath. She knew what hardship was, what it was like to look hunger in the eye. The outlaw didn’t realize how much she understood what he’d gone through. “Why didn’t ye leave?” she asked finally.
Craeg’s eyes opened, and for a moment their gazes fused. “I eventually decided that I would,” he replied softly, “on the day my father died, I realized that there was no future for me in Dunan. Duncan, who was eighteen at the time, would become clan-chief, and what little protection I’d had from him would be gone. But that last night, as I scrabbled for scraps of bread to feed me on the journey I planned to take north into MacLeod lands, Duncan and a group of his friends found me.”
Craeg paused there, scrubbing his face with his fist. Coira realized then that this was a tale he rarely shared with anyone. Even though it had happened a long time ago, it clearly still pained him to dredge up the memories.
“One against six isn’t good odds,” Craeg said, his tone wry now. “They beat me bloody, and then Duncan drew his dirk and slashed me across the face with it.” Craeg reached up, a fingertip tracing the fine white scar that ran from his temple to his cheek, skirting his left eye. “They then dumped me in the river outside Dunan and left me for dead.”
“But ye didn’t die,” Coira finished the story for him. “And ye have plagued Duncan MacKinnon ever since.”
Craeg flashed her a hard smile, his gaze gleaming. “Aye … and I will continue to do so until I draw my last breath.”
Craeg watched the nun pack up her supplies. Her movements were deft and purposeful, matching the resolute expression upon her face.
He drank her in.
He’d missed her last night. When one of the other nuns had tended to him, he’d been disappointed. As much as he hated to admit it, Sister Coira had gotten under his skin.
Why else would he have been so candid with her?
He rarely spoke of his past. Telling the tale of how his half-brother had nearly killed him still left a sting of humiliation in its wake. That humiliation had fueled his need for vengeance, and he felt it again now.
He liked the way Sister Coira listened to him, the understanding and compassion in those lovely eyes. She lived a sheltered existence here behind the walls of Kilbride, yet he’d sensed that she grasped exactly how difficult his upbringing had been. There had been no shock in her eyes when he’d spoken of his quest for revenge.
Somehow, she understood.
Ye shouldn’t be lusting after a nun,his conscience needled him as he continued to observe Sister Coira. She had almost finished tidying up and would soon leave him alone.Ye shall go straight to hell.
A grim smile stretched Craeg’s lips then. Luckily for him, he wasn’t a pious man. As a lad, he’d regularly gone to the kirk to pray. Father Athol had been good to him, had given him soup and bread when his mother was too busy to feed him. Yet despite the priest’s best efforts, Craeg had never embraced God. Maybe he’d seen too much ugliness already, even as a lad.
“Sister Coira,” he said finally when she picked up her basket and moved toward the hanging that separated his dark space from the rest of the infirmary. “Would ye stay with me a while longer?”
She halted and turned to him, her eyes widening. “I shouldn’t really,” she murmured, favoring him with a half-smile. “I have chores to do.”
“Just for a wee while?” he replied, returning her smile. He knew he could be charming when he wanted, although Sister Coira seemed immune. “I’ve spent too much time alone of late … it sends my thoughts to dark places.”
Her expression softened at this, and her gaze shadowed. Once again, he got the feeling that she understood him better than anyone ever had. How was that possible?
“Very well,” Sister Coira said softly, setting the basket down on the end of the bed and moving toward the stool. “I suppose I can spare a little time.”
