Page 40 of Fallen
And there was an empty space at the table.
He glanced over at the abbess to find Mother Shona watching him. Duncan frowned at her. “Where’s Sister Coira?”
“There are sick villagers in Torrin,” the abbess replied, her voice cool. “Sister Coira has gone to attend them.”
Across from Mother Shona, Father Camron stopped shoveling stew into his mouth. Straightening up, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Ye should forbid her to do so, Mother.” His dark brows knotted together as he frowned. “Do ye want the plague entering the abbey?”
The abbess glanced over at the abbot, her mouth pursing. In the day he’d been here, Duncan had seen the woman grow increasingly tense. “The abbey has an important role,” she replied, her tone sharpening. “We will not abandon the folk of these lands.”
MacKinnon snorted, drawing her gaze once more. “From what I hear, there is no cure for the sickness … Sister Coira is wasting her time.”
His belly tightened then as he considered that the nun might fall ill and die. He had plans for the lovely Coira—the last thing he wanted was to lose her again.
Ye don’t want to catch the pestilence off her either, he reminded himself.
“MacKinnon is right,” Father Camron added with a cold smile. “A nun’s place is here … serving the Lord in prayer.”
“A nun’s place is helping others … as Christ taught us,” Mother Shona replied crisply. “Sister Coira is a gifted healer. Even if she can’t cure folk, she can ensure their last hours are as comfortable as possible … and bring comfort to their families.”
The abbot’s smile twisted. “A lot of good that’ll do.”
Mother Shona’s brown eyes glinted, and she inhaled sharply. Her lips parted as she readied herself to reply to the abbot. However, the arrival of a monk at their table forestalled her.
The monk was young—small and slender as a lass. His dark hair was cropped short, the crown tonsured. And even though heavy dark robes swathed his small body, MacKinnon could see that the monk was quivering with excitement.
“Father Camron!” The monk dropped to one knee next to the abbot, his voice high and breathless. “I have news.”
The abbot swiveled, his face creasing into a scowl. “Nothere, Brother Ian,” he snapped. “Come … we’ll talk outside.”
Father Camron made to rise from the table, but MacKinnon reached out and caught the sleeve of his robe, restraining him.
“Yer friend looks excited,” he murmured. “I think we’d all like to hear his news.”
The abbot’s throat bobbed, his gaze darting from Duncan to the abbess. Mother Shona was watching him with a furrowed brow. “This is private,” he muttered.
“Ye are on my land, Father,” MacKinnon warned him with a tight smile. “And as such, I will hear what this man has to say.” The clan-chief shifted his attention to the monk. The excitement had ebbed from his lean face, and he now wore a hunted expression. No doubt, this transgression would earn him a beating from the abbot later.
Father Camron sank back down onto the bench-seat, defeated. “Very well,” he growled. “Tell us then, Brother Ian.”
“The nun … Sister Coira … I saw her on the path back from Torrin, Father. She was talking with a man. And then she left with him.”
Duncan went still, his tender belly clenching further. “Describe him.”
The monk’s gaze flicked between the abbot and clan-chief, before he swallowed hard. “Tall and lanky with dark hair … he was clad in hunting leathers and carried a longbow.”
MacKinnon sucked in a breath.An outlaw.“Why didn’t ye follow them?”
The monk’s gaze widened. “Father Camron told me to return to him if Sister Coira did anything suspicious.”
Heat exploded in Duncan’s chest, creeping up his neck in a sensation he knew well; he was having trouble keeping a leash on his temper. “Lackwit,” he growled. “What good is this news, if we don’t know where they went?”
Brother Ian licked his lips, his gaze darting now. The abbot hadn’t uttered a word, although his face had turned red. Indeed, the monk was going to get a thrashing the moment he got him alone. “Maybe the other nun knows,” he finally replied, his voice strangled.
Duncan scowled, his hands fisting as he prepared himself to lash out at this clod-head. “Othernun?”
“Aye … she was with Sister Coira at the time, but she returned to the abbey afterward.” The monk’s thin cheeks flushed while the words poured from him. He then swiveled around, his gaze searching the sea of faces beneath the dais. The nuns, monks, and warriors seated there had all stopped eating and were watching the scene unfold. “There!” he gasped, pointing. “There she is!”
MacKinnon’s gaze followed his and settled upon a young nun seated at the far side of the refectory. Large grey eyes stared back at him, and the lass cringed under the weight of his stare. The clan-chief pushed himself up from his seat and slowly beckoned to the nun. “Come here,” he growled.
