Page 4 of Highland Slayer
“She’s alive,” he muttered. Then he lifted his head and looked around, up and down the riverbank. “Is she alone? Does anyone see wreckage of any kind?”
That had the knights looking around, heads bobbing. “Nay,” Estevan said. “No wreckage that I can see. Kal, ride down the bank, toward the sea. There may be something down there, sunken so we canna see it.”
Kaladin was already heading in the direction his brother had indicated. He and his cream-colored stallion raced down the riverbank. As he headed south, Estevan brushed some of the dirt away from the woman’s face and nose, making sure it wasn’t impeding her breathing. She was wet, but he didn’t have anything to cover her with. In silence, they waited until Kaladin returned, which was nearly a half-hour. The could see him thundering back in their direction.
“There’s some wreckage down that way,” Kaladin shouted as he came near, reining the horse to a rough stop as the animal kicked up clods of dirt in its haste. “The tide has gone out, but I could see a small boat that has been badly damaged. It must be hers.”
Estevan nodded, returning his attention to the woman at his feet. Titan and Mateo were gazing down at her, also, watching Rodion assess her condition. It didn’t take long for him to figure it out.
“The woman is near death,” he said grimly. “She will not survive if we do not find someone to tend her.”
“A physic?” Estevan said, turning his attention northward. “Dumfries would have the nearest physic, but we are an hour or more away.”
“What about the nuns?” Mateo asked.
Everyone looked at him. “They are a fighting order,” Estevan pointed out. “They dunna heal.”
But Mateo shook his head. “If they are a fighting order, then they must also have knowledge of healing,” he said. “I am certain they would not let a male physic touch them should they be wounded, so it stands to reason that if they fight, they heal.”
His logic was sound. As Estevan sighed heavily, trying to determine what to do, Rodion spoke.
“How far is the abbey?” he asked.
Estevan gestured toward the east. “Not far,” he said. “A mile or two at most.”
“Then we should put this woman on their doorstep and continue on our way,” Rodion said. “We cannot simply leave her to die. Let us take her and be done with it.”
It seemed the reasonable course of action, but unfortunately, no one seemed particularly eager to make the first step. No one wanted to go near the Templar nuns, their fierce legend perhaps larger than the actual truth. Sometimes things like that happened, when stories told from man to man took on a life of their own with each successive telling. They’d just finished speaking about the mysterious nuns of the order of St. Margaret of Loch Doom and now they were facing the very real possibility of actually having contact with them.
A far different destination than the gambling den.
“Matty, collect the woman,” Rodion said when no one else seemed willing to move. “We must get moving. We’ll take her to the nuns and then continue on to The Butcher’s.”
“Mayhap taking pity on the lady will erase the sin of gambling,” Kaladin muttered. “Mayhap it is penitence for what we’re about tae do.”
Mateo heaved the sandy, wet, limp woman over his shoulder. “Then let us get about it,” he said. “I do not need another stain against my immortal soul. If this will eliminate one, then I am keen to do it.”
That seemed to make the decision for everyone. They found a ready cause for absolution for their future gambling sins right in front of them, so no one questioned it. They began to run for their horses as Estevan helped Mateo get the woman onto his horse. When she was finally secure and Mateo mounted, the five men made haste for the lair of the Templar nuns.
And for one of them, a distinct date with destiny.
CHAPTER TWO
St. Margaret’s of Loch Doom
Sister Hildegarde wascoming again.
She could tell by the woman’s footsteps, which weren’t so much footsteps as they were concussions of impending trouble.
The sound always made her heart race, just a little.
It had for as long as she could remember. From her very earliest memories as a foundling, a ward of St. Margaret’s, she could remember the sound of Sister Hildegarde’s footsteps and how all of the children would stiffen with fear. Strange thing, however, was that Sister Hildegarde never hit anyone. Not a strike nor a slap. She was not a warm woman, but she was a fair one. It was simply her expression and words that struck terror into the most stalwart child, and even now, as a young woman, she still felt that familiar fright.
This time, however, there was no reason to.
She and Sister Hildegarde were comrades these days, no longer pupil and teacher. It was a relationship that had matured over the years, just as she had matured, and nowadays, there was even ground between them. Whispers in the cloisters said that she was Sister Hildegarde’s favorite child, a child now a woman, but a woman who had grown into something strong and magnificent.
“Ana!”
