Page 18 of Highland Slayer
“Broughtwhere?”
“I dunna know.”
Estevan realized they’d bitten off more than they could chew. As Kaladin continued to try to communicate with the women, Estevan stood up and faced Mother Michael.
“I fear we only understand just a few words,” he said. “We know her name is Leonore and we believe she’s asked for help, but beyond that, we dunna know anything more.”
Mother Michael accepted his explanation, and her sense of concern returned. “We must communicate with her,” she said. Then she cocked her head thoughtfully. “Mayhap we do not understand her language, but she may speak another.”
Estevan wasn’t sure what she meant, but Mother Michael pushed past him, kneeling down near Leonore. She fixed on the woman, who continued to cough and sputter.
“Intellegisne me?” she asked softly.
Leonore’s eyes widened. After a moment’s shock, she nodded firmly. “Ita facio,” she said.
As Mother Michael smiled, Estevan understood what the woman had said. “The language of the church,” he said. “If the woman attends church, then she knows it.”
Mother Michael nodded. “With the Northmen, one can never tell,” she said. “Sometimes they worship their pagan gods, but it seems Lady Leonore knows something of Latin. I should have thought of it earlier.”
Estevan stood up stiffly from his crouched position near Leonore. “I thought my brother and I would be able tae help more,” he said. “’Tis true that there are Northmen, still, in the north of Scotland. Not as much as there used tae be, but they’re still there.”
Mother Michael nodded in understanding. “Let us determine if we can find out more about her this way,” she said, her focus still on Leonore. “Ubi est domus tua?”
Where is your home?
It was a simple question, or perhaps not so simple the way Leonore began to speak again, gesturing with her hands. She went on and on, speaking haltingly in Latin, but enough so that Mother Michael and the rest of them began to understand her, just a little. Anyone who was part of the church, as Mother Michael and her fellow women were, would have known Latin because that was the language they prayed in. The language of all masses. And Estevan and his fellow warriors would have known it from their early education. It was, therefore, a universal language, and one that seemed to be telling a harrowing tale.
Lady Leonore was no lady.
She was a queen.
But that was as far as Estevan and Kaladin got. Titan suddenly appeared behind them, having been awakened at Estevan’s request by Anaxandra.
“Mateo is ill,” he said in a low voice.
Estevan and Kaladin turned to him. “Ill?” Estevan repeated, confused. “What do ye mean? He was perfectly fine last evening.”
Titan started to speak, but Leonore suddenly burst out in a harsh coughing fit, covering her mouth with her hands in the process. That had Titan grunting with realization as he pointed to the injured, and now ill, woman.
“He must have caught it from her,” he said. “He has a fever. The woman with the crossbow sent someone for food for him, but I do not think he can travel. Not in this weather.”
Estevan and Kaladin, followed by Titan, made their way over to Mateo, who was lying flat on his back against the stone wall. His eyes were closed, but he was rattling as he breathed. When he coughed, it sounded as if his lungs were full of mucus.
Estevan knelt down beside him.
“Matty?” he said. “How do ye feel?”
Mateo’s eyes rolled open. “I’ve been better,” he admitted. “Strange… strange how it came on so suddenly. I did not feel ill yesterday.”
Across the sanctuary, Leonore was coughing up a storm. They could all hear her. Estevan sighed heavily.
“I think we know who made ye ill,” he said. “Titan says ye shouldna travel today. He’s probably right—’tis still raining.”
Mateo cleared his throat quietly, trying to cough up some of the mess in his lungs. “I suppose I could do with a day of rest,” he said. “But if the nuns want us removed, then I shall have no choice but to comply.”
Rodion, who had been at Mateo’s feet, motioned to the men standing around. He stepped away from Mateo and they followed, eventually huddling in a concerned group.
“He cannot travel,” Rodion said seriously. “He started breathing heavily only a few hours ago and has deteriorated quickly.”
