Page 40 of Highland Slayer
Anaxandra shrugged. “That is another question right now,” she said. “No one has been selected yet. I’ve heard whispers that Mother Michael wishes me to succeed her, but that is not whatIwant.”
“Ye want marriage and children.”
Anaxandra nodded firmly on a subject she was passionate about. “Aye,” she said. “But I am worried.”
“What about?”
“That a husband would find my ability with the crossbow off-putting,” she said. “One time, an old widow came to lodge here and she said that men like women to wear fine things and be docile, not warriors. Is this true?”
He fought off a grin. “Some men, mayhap,” he said. “Not all. Some men might actually be proud of yer skill.”
That came as a surprise. “Truly?” she said. “Where could I find such a man? In London, mayhap? I hear that weaker men live in London and would be willing to accept a wife’s flaws.”
He rubbed at his chin, trying to rub away the smile he couldn’t seem to keep off his lips. “I dunna think that is entirely true,” he said. “A man who would be proud of yer skills could be anywhere. In London. In Nottingham. In Berwick. In Edinburgh. Even in the Highlands. It’s the heart of the man that defines his character and what he will accept, not where he lives.”
That was new information to her. “I understand,” she said, mulling over what he’d said. “Then I suppose in order to meet such a man, I would have to leave the abbey and search for him.”
She clearly didn’t understand how it all worked, courtship and marriage, which was incredibly sad, in Estevan’s view. The fact that Mother Michael didn’t see fit to explain even the most basic things about society, or men in general, was truly criminal. But maybe she didn’t even know herself, trained in the abbey since birth as she was. Estevan had never seen anything like it in his life. But thinking on Mother Michael reminded him that he needed to find the woman.
But he was certain this conversation with Anaxandra wasn’t over. Not in the least.
He had ideas.
“There’s a little more tae it than that,” he said. “I’d be happy tae speak with ye about it later, but the truth is that I came here for a reason. I am looking for Mother Michael. Do ye know where I might find her?”
Anaxandra nodded, pointing to the far side of the garden where the oriel window in the wall was located. “There,” she said. “That is her chapel. Shall I tell her?”
“Would ye, please?”
Anaxandra nodded, stepping out from behind the cart and wiping her hands on her apron. She smiled at Estevan nervously as she went, and he watched her walk over to the old stone wall with the doorway and the windows built into it. He made his way back over to Titan as Anaxandra disappeared into the door in the wall.
“What was that all about?” Titan said.
Estevan kept his eye on the door. “I’ll tell ye later,” he said. “This place… it’s strange, Titan. These women know nothing about the world. They call anything outside of these walls the Outworld. Did ye know that?”
Titan shook his head. “I’d not heard that,” he said. “Where did that woman go?”
“To tell Mother Michael we wish tae speak with her.”
Titan turned to look at the door as well. “What did she say to you that makes you think this place is so strange?”
Estevan shook his head. “Where tae start?” he said. “This place may have a religious name on it, and be referred to as an abbey, but these women aren’t nuns. Not all of them, anyway. And the women eat and live in packs, like wolves. The packs dunna mix.”
Titan looked at him, brow furrowed. “Is that so? Odd.”
Estevan cast him a knowing look. “Indeed, it is,” he said. “I suspect there’s even more oddities than we know of.”
Titan opened his mouth to reply, but Estevan caught sight of Anaxandra emerging from the chapel. She was waving them over.
That had the men moving for the door.
“Mother Michael is inside,” Anaxandra said when they drew close. “She will receive you.”
The men nodded politely. As Titan headed into the chapel, Estevan smiled at Anaxandra, who blushed and smiled in return. But he dutifully followed Titan a moment later, entering a low-ceilinged chamber that smelled of something strange. It was simply a chamber, with no hearth, but what looked like a makeshift altar at one end. On the altar were bowls of something that was smoldering, hence the smell.
Mother Michael, dressed in her dirty tunic and breeches, was standing by the altar.
“My lords,” she said. “How may I be of service?”
