“No.” She glanced over her shoulder, then back at me, then over her other shoulder.
“You’re safe here,” I repeated. Was she, though? If she could climb over this wall, anyone else could, too.
Her head swiveled back to me.
And then her knees buckled.
I shot forward, catching her before she could drop to the ground. Hanging limp in my arms, she let out a moan.
“It’s okay. I got you.” I swooped her up. Cradling her to my chest, I carried her through the woods to the garden shed all the way at the other side of the monastery. I slipped inside and—knowing the small room by heart because I spent almost every day in it—blindly headed to the pile of empty gunnysacks stacked on the right wall. I laid her down, then returned to the kerosene lamp by the door.
The soft glow revealed a wheelbarrow in the far corner and an array of garden tools lining the weathered wooden walls. The scent of damp earth hung in the air. I picked up the lamp and carried it to the woman. She had her eyes closed, chest rising and falling with every breath. Without touching her, I scanned her body once again for injuries. Apart from the rip in her jeans I’d noticed earlier, and dirt on her burgundy T-shirt, she looked fine. Why had she fainted? If only I were a combat medic, like my older brother Wentworth.
I brought the lamp closer to her face. Full lips, a smattering of freckles across the nose, fiery-red hair. More freckles on her arms. She was young. Early to mid-twenties, maybe.
Her eyes flew open and locked onto me. She shrank back against the wooden shed wall.
Holding up both hands, I backtracked to give her room. “Just checking for injuries.”
Apparently not what she wanted to hear, because her hazel eyes darkened as she stood. “How dare you touch me!”
“I didn’t touch you. I mean, I did to carry you in here, but not after that. That’d get me in hot water.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “My name is Brother Samuel, by the way.”
Once it had been Kingsley Grady—a name pretty much every person on this island was familiar with, thanks to my family’s status that came with owning the world’s second-largest whiskey company. Since it was custom to get a new name when joining a monastic community, Kingsley Grady was long buried.
The day I’d gotten a new name had been the best of my life.
The woman inched closer to me while keeping as much distance between us as possible. Realizing the door was her destination, I moved out of the way.
She darted to it, then stopped. For the first time since opening her eyes, her gaze left me as she took in the shed. Against my expectations, she didn’t flee outside. Instead, she looked at me again, taking in my habit. “Where are we?”
“In the garden shed at the end of the property.”
“Property of what?”
I frowned. How did she not know where she was? “Saint James Monastery.”
For a long moment she said nothing, her gaze once again scraping over me. Was something wrong with my habit? I looked down. Nothing amiss.
“Monastery?” she finally asked. Curiosity seemed to slowly crowd out her fear, her posture ever so slightly relaxing. “So you’re a nun?”
I chuckled. “A monk. A nun is female. We only have men here.”
“Right, that’s what I meant. My brain is not . . .” She caught the door handle. “Bye.”
“Wait.” Not sure why I stopped her, but I didn’t want her to leave. “Can I get you anything? Water? Food?”
“No, thanks.” She was already out of the shed.
I followed her outside, taking the kerosene lamp with me. Moonlight reflected on the sharp edges of the green mountains rising into the star-strewn night sky. “You sure it’s safe to leave? You can stay here if you want. We have a guesthouse.”
What are you doing, man? You can’t just offer her a place to stay in an all-male monastery.
As far as I could remember, we’d only had one female guest in the past nine years. I had to ask Father Cruz if this woman was allowed to stay here. Nobody dared to do anything without running it past him first. But waking him wasn’t an option.
Still, for some reason I wanted her to spend the night so I could pull security till morning. The way she kept looking around made it clear she still felt threatened by whoever was waiting for her out there. Yes, I was certain it was a person, maybe more than one. Nothing else would make a woman scale a fifteen-foot stone wall.
She shifted. “I don’t know . . .”