Page 65 of Fallen
Sensing how fragile the leash was on her self-control, Craeg reached out and placed a cautioning hand upon Coira’s arm.
“Father Camron,” he said, the calmness of his voice at odds with the steel that lay just beneath. “I do believe ye have somewhere to go?”
For a long moment, the abbot didn’t move. He just glowered at Craeg, as if a black look could strike the man dead.
But if that were the case, the abbot would have been dead ten times over—for now all the nuns surrounding them were glaring at Father Camron.
The abbot eventually drew in a deep, shuddering breath and twisted on his heel. “Ready my mule!” he snarled at one of the monks cowering behind him. “Now!”
Four of the monks broke off from the group and scurried away across the yard toward the stables to do his bidding. Then, gathering up the skirts of his robe with as much dignity as his offended pride allowed, the abbot followed, the rest of his flock trailing behind him.
Coira watched them go, as did Craeg. And when Father Camron had passed out of earshot, Craeg glanced over at Mother Shona. “That man has the power to ruin ye, Mother.”
The abbess’s shoulders slumped. “Aye … assuming we haven’t just given him the plague … but I knew that when I locked him inside the kirk.”
“Do ye want me and my men to go after him … ensure he never sends word to Rome?”
The abbess huffed a bitter laugh. “No, Craeg. As much as I’d like ye to cut out that man’s tongue, I won’t allow it.”
“I was actually thinking of slitting the shit-weasel’s throat.”
“Again … tempting.” Mother Shona drew herself up, her shoulders squaring. “But no.” Her gaze swept around the yard, at where the nuns all watched her, worry etched upon their faces. “I’m sorry, Sisters … but our time here has ended.”
“No!” Sister Elspeth burst out, her face blanching. “Ye can’t—”
The abbess raised a hand, cutting her off. “Father Camron will indeed write to the Pope, and I will be removed as abbess and excommunicated. There is nothing left at Kilbride for ye.” Mother Shona’s eyes glittered with unshed tears as she continued. “Return to yer quarters and pack yer bags. Ye must all leave with the dawn.”
Coira stifled a gasp. “But where will they go?”
Mother Shona glanced her way, her expression bleak. “To Inishail Priory on the mainland. The prioress there … Mother Iseabal … will welcome them.”
“But we don’t want to go.” One of the nuns spoke up. Sister Robena had only been at Kilbride two years, and had just recently taken her vows of perpetuity. “We wish to stay here.”
“Ye can’t, Sister.” Mother Shona met the younger woman’s eye, her features hardening. “I made a mistake, thinking that teaching ye all how to wield weapons would aid ye. I was arrogant, and my hubris has brought this abbey to ruin.” The abbess paused there, her gaze guttering. “It’s too late for me, but not for the rest of ye. Tomorrow, ye will leave Kilbride and make a fresh start elsewhere … that is my final word on the subject.”
A solemn air settled over Kilbride Abbey with the dusk. Emerging from tending to the three sick nuns in the infirmary, Coira raised her face to the sky and whispered a prayer for them.
Sister Morag was close to death. She was older and weaker than Sisters Anis and Fritha. Coira had left Sister Magda to tend to the sick. Now, she’d bathe and join Mother Shona and Craeg for supper in the abbess’s hall.
Frankly, Coira didn’t feel up to it, but Mother Shona had insisted. It would be the last time they’d break bread together—it was goodbye.
Outdoors, the air was warm and scented with the sweetness of summer. The world didn’t know of the turmoil of the current days. It didn’t care.
Coira circuited the complex of buildings and went to her cell. A little of the day’s tension ebbed from her when she saw that some kind soul had left her a bowl of water, soap, and drying cloths with which to bathe.
The water was still warm.
Stripping off her clothes—which was far easier now that she no longer dressed as a nun—Coira washed away the grime, sweat, and blood. She even washed her hair, teasing out the tangles with her fingertips.
The same individual who’d left her the soap and water, had also given her clean clothes—not men’s clothing but a faded blue kirtle and cream-colored léine to wear under it. The cloth was poor, the hems frayed in places, yet Coira sighed with relief as she slipped on the garments.
Lord, it felt good to be clean again.
As before, she placed her crucifix around her neck; somehow, she felt naked without it. No matter what happened in the future, she would take her faith with her.
Quickly braiding her damp hair into a single plait, Coira then left her cell and made her way to the abbess’s hall.
Craeg was already there, seated in one of the high-backed chairs near the hearth, opposite Mother Shona. His shaggy hair was loose and looked damp—it seemed that he too had bathed before joining the abbess.
