Page 55 of Fallen
“Why?”
“Mother Shona taught us. Before she came to Skye, she had a hard life. When she was elected as abbess, she decided that the Sisters of Kilbride should be able to defend themselves if the need ever arose.”
Farlan gave a low whistle. “And there was me thinking nuns were useless.”
Coira’s gaze narrowed. “The Lord’s work is never ‘useless’. Kilbride is the reason the people of Torrin haven’t starved over the past years. MacKinnon always raids their stores in autumn.”
“So ye have been helping folk?”
“Aye, when we can. It’s just one of the reasons why MacKinnon has always disliked us.”
Farlan frowned. “And the other reasons?”
The young man was sharp—too sharp. Coira might have confided in Craeg, but she wasn’t about to do the same with Farlan. She liked him well enough, yet he asked too many questions.
Coira glanced away then, her gaze traveling down the column to where Craeg strode next to Gunn. The red-haired warrior was easy to spot in a group, and he was never far from the outlaw leader.
Warmth settled in the cradle of Coira’s hips, radiating out.
If she’d been alone, she’d have raised her fingers to her lips, allowing the memory of that kiss to flood through her. However, under Farlan’s penetrating gaze, she prevented herself.
That kiss had shifted her world. Everything was different in the aftermath. She felt desire for a man—a man that didn’t turn her stomach, a man that didn’t want to pay her so she’d spread her legs, a man who treated her as if she were something precious, something to be cherished.
A pressure built in her chest as she thought about Craeg, recalled the tenderness in his eyes and the fierceness upon his face as he stared down at her at dawn.
The shadow MacKinnon has cast over ye will soon lift.
He’d said those words with such conviction that she’d believed him. For the first time, she actually had hope. It was something she’d searched for at Kilbride, yet despite her strong faith, she’d never truly found it.
Not until Craeg entered her life.
A soft laugh drew her from her reverie. Coira glanced back at Farlan to find him still watching her, a knowing grin upon his lips. “Ye wouldn’t be the first woman to fall for him,” he said with a shake of his head. “Craeg wields charm like a blade.”
A chill stole over Coira at these words. He made Craeg’s behavior seem contrived, practiced—as if he’d put on a show for her. Perhaps Farlan saw the alarm on her face, for his grin abruptly faded. “Sorry, poor choice of words. I could do with some lessons in charm myself. No wonder the lasses prefer Craeg.”
Coira huffed a laugh, although underneath it she was now wary of Farlan. “Aye … one day ye will cut yerself on that sharp tongue of yers, Farlan.”
He offered her a sheepish smile. “I think I just have.”
The two bands met just as the sun reached its zenith in the sky.
Craeg, who walked ahead of his men, caught a glimpse of MacKinnon pennants in the distance. His gaze traveled along the line of horsemen outlined against the dark wall of greenery behind them.
“Stay here,” Craeg murmured to Gunn, his gaze never leaving the riders. “I’m going out to talk to him … alone.”
“I should come with ye.” Gunn’s voice held a warning, yet Craeg ignored it. Before the end came, he’d speak to Duncan MacKinnon face-to-face.
“Stay here,” he replied, still not glancing at his friend.
With that, Craeg stepped out of the line and walked down the scrubby slope to where the horse and rider had halted at the bottom of the valley.
The sun warmed the crown of his head as he walked, and he was aware that after what seemed like weeks of grey, misty weather, the sky had cleared and summer had returned to the Isle of Skye.
Craeg walked easily, despite the heavy pine shield he wore slung across his back and the claidheamh-mor that hung at his side. Unlike many of his men, he didn’t carry a quiver of arrows and longbow, for he preferred to lead the charge of warriors into battle. However, he’d strapped a long-bladed dirk to his right thigh for fighting at close-quarters, should the need arise. And it most likely would.
MacKinnon cut an imposing figure astride the magnificent warhorse. He sat easily in the saddle, and Craeg remembered what a skilled horseman his half-brother was. He’d heard about his prowess as a hunter too—Duncan would be a formidable adversary, mounted or not.
And as he drew near, Craeg finally made out the features of the MacKinnon clan-chief’s face.
