Page 67 of Fallen
Mother Shona met her eye. “The people of this landhateDuncan MacKinnon … but they love his brother. Craeg knows this, but for some reason he’s afraid of taking on the role, afraid of facing his destiny.” Her gaze swung back to Craeg. “Yer enemy is dead now. It’s time for ye to take his place.”
“Ye make me sound a lot nobler than I actually am,” Craeg countered, his handsome face taut. “It was revenge, Mother Shona. I did it for me … no one else.”
The abbess shook her head, a rueful smile curving her lips. “Aye, ye had a score to settle with MacKinnon … but ye also drew men from every corner of this territory to yer cause. Ye inspired them in a way yer brother never could.”
A brittle silence fell. Craeg continued to glare at the abbess, a nerve flickering in his cheek. And when he didn’t contradict her, Mother Shona added. “If ye don’t take Duncan MacKinnon’s place, someone less worthy will, I’m sure. Would ye put this land ye love in peril again? Would ye let yer pride override good sense?”
Craeg swallowed. Watching him, Coira sensed his turmoil, his conflict. With a jolt, she realized he wasn’t being falsely modest; he really didn’t want to take Duncan MacKinnon’s place. He couldn’t see past the name that had defined him his entire life.
Craeg the Bastard.
Coira’s breathing quickened. She wasn’t sure what she thought about the abbess’s idea either. Frankly, the suggestion had come as a shock. However, as the moments slid by, she realized that Mother Shona was, indeed, an excellent judge of character.
“The abbess speaks wisely,” she said finally, her voice subdued. “No one would make a better clan-chief than ye. Please consider it.”
Craeg’s gaze widened. Mouth flattening, he looked away, staring at the glowing lump of peat in the hearth. He was so tense, she expected him to leap up at any moment and stride from the hall.
Yet he didn’t.
The abbess finished her supper and brushed crumbs off her lap. Her attention then focused upon Coira.
“Craeg isn’t the only one who needs to consider their future,” she said softly. “What willyedo?”
Coira swallowed her last mouthful of bread and cheese and stalled by taking a slow, deliberate gulp of wine to wash it down. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
She was aware then that Craeg had shifted his gaze from the fire. She could feel him looking at her, awaiting her answer.
“Ye aren’t staying here,” Mother Shona reminded her. “Will ye go to Inishail Priory with the others and take up the veil again?”
Coira shook her head. The definitiveness of her refusal surprised her. She’d been too occupied over the last few hours to give her future any thought. However, she knew she wouldn’t be going to Inishail Priory.
“I’m not sure where my path will lead me,” she murmured. “But one thing I do know is that I won’t be returning to the order.”
The abbess’s gaze shadowed. She looked almost disappointed. “Why not?”
Coira sighed. She glanced over at Craeg then, her chest constricting. “For years I’ve sheltered behind the walls of Kilbride … have tried to erase my past with prayer and penitence, and shrouded my body in yards of black cloth so that no man would ever see me as a woman again,” she admitted softly. “God will always remain in my heart, but I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to live.”
Coira slipped through the gates into the make-shift camp below, her heart pounding like a battle drum.
A full moon hung over Kilbride, its friendly face casting a hoary light over the world. A perimeter of torches flickered around the clusters of tents, and a man standing guard greeted Coira with a nod. Neither of them spoke. He allowed her to pass through into the outlaw camp without questioning where she was going.
Maybe he already knew.
There was only one person here she’d have any reason to seek out. Only one person who dominated her every waking thought.
Coira’s breathing quickened, and she did her best to slow it, to calm her thudding pulse.
She’d tried to go to her cell, where she’d spend her last night at Kilbride. She attempted to stretch out upon her narrow pallet and let sleep claim her.
She was certainly tired enough.
But sleep hadn’t come. All she’d been able to think of was that time was slipping like grains of sand through her fingers. And she didn’t want to waste one more moment.
Eventually, she’d risen from her pallet, donned her clothing, and left the abbey. Her feet carried her toward her destination of their own accord. She moved on instinct now, not questioning her decision.
Craeg’s tent was easy to find. It rose above the others surrounding it, and sat at the heart of the camp.
Coira halted before the entrance, her heart racing so fast now that she felt sick.
