Page 6 of Highland Slayer
It had been the home of Lady Agnes Herries, then known as Whiteside Castle because of the white moss that grew upon the gray stones. The long-established legend was that Lady Agnes had been widowed when her husband was killed in battle, and, despondent, she prayed for forty days and forty nights beforeSt. Margaret appeared before her and told her to find a fighting order of nuns in her name. Revenge for her husband’s death was the motive for the fighting. Whether it was a fever dream or a genuine vision was still something of a debate within the church itself, but Lady Agnes turned the property over to the local diocese, became a beguine herself, and began recruiting other widows and unmarried young women for her holy female army.
That was only the beginning.
More widows joined, bringing their children. Other children, foundlings, were given over to the order to nurture, and, as an order strictly of women and mothers, sentient creatures who were, by nature, protective over the children they bore, the order became less holy and more military. It really wasn’t even a holy order any longer. Women took up arms to protect those children, and each other, and those in need. If an abused woman came to the order seeking protection, they would be most happy protect her, and if the husband came looking for her… well, suffice it to say that more than one husband went missing if he came around, seeking his wife.
The odd and fearsome reputation of St. Margaret’s formed.
It was purely by chance that it sat upon the banks of Loch Doom, which, many years ago, had actually been Loch Duine, but over the years, the “N” became an “M” because it suited the abbey more. The locals began to call themNa Ban-Teamplairean, or the Lady Templars, and their name and reputation spread. As Anaxandra finished dressing, she couldn’t help but think about all of the women who came before her because the evidence of their lives was in this very room. So many shields that the Templar nuns had taken into battle. So many weapons they’d used to defend the weak. So many souls in this very room that reminded Anaxandra every day of how fortunate she was to serve with women who were fierce and brave. Even Sister Hildegarde, a woman who had been one ofthe fiercest until a skin cancer on her right hand took away the use of that hand, but no one would acknowledge that, least of all Sister Hildegarde. The cancer was trying very hard to spread up her arm and kill her, but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. She pretended that her world was still normal.
Anaxandra pretended right along with her.
Such was the courage of every woman at St. Margaret’s.
“Come,” Sister Hildegarde said as Anaxandra finished donning the mail coat. “You must mount the wall. Hurry, now. There is no time to waste.”
Jolted from her reflections, Anaxandra slung the crossbow over her shoulder but didn’t take the bolts because she was braiding her long blonde hair into a single braid to keep it out of her face. Still, she followed Sister Hildegarde to the narrow spiral stairs wedged into a three-story turret, stairs that led to the wall walk. That was where Sister Hildegarde came to a halt, handing over the bolts when Anaxandra finished braiding her hair. The bolts went in a quiver strung across her back and she swiftly mounted the steps up to the wall.
On the narrow wall walk, she could see that the previous sentry was still there, still vigilant as the afternoon waned. Usually, there were two of them on the wall at any given time, and as the previous sentry, having caught sight of her, disappeared down another turret, she could see another sentry on the opposite side of the complex, watching the north.
With that observation, Anaxandra took up position near the gatehouse entry. It wasn’t a big gatehouse as far as gatehouses went, but it did have two levels, many windows to watch the countryside, and many murder holes in the floor by which to rain down terror upon any attackers.
Anaxandra settled down at her post in the gatehouse, watching the countryside, the hills, and, to the south, the glint of the sea beyond. Dark clouds were quickly approaching from theeast and she could smell a storm upon the wind, the same wind that brought whiffs of sea and salt. Usually, sentry duty was a simple thing because no one in their right mind would attack or even approach St. Margaret’s, but with news of a group of men traveling on the road that was just over the hill, Anaxandra would remain vigilant.
That vigilance was about to pay off.
St. Margaret’s was ready for what was to come.
CHAPTER THREE
The woman wasstarting to regain consciousness.
They could all hear her making noise draped over Mateo’s lap. Grunting and groaning, mostly. She moved a little, too, but not much. Not enough. She was in terrible shape, so there was no real chance of her fighting off five powerful men, and no one was really sure if she was trying, but she was definitely semiconscious. Mateo had to put his hand on her back to keep her from sliding off one way or the other as they thundered down a small road, heading east.
Behind them, the clouds were beginning to thunder.
Rain would soon be upon them. Estevan was in the lead of their group as they galloped down the road. They crested the rise of a hill, entering a small valley, made flat by the water runoff into the sea to the south, but there were rocks and trees and a gravelly, sandy road to travel upon. The road led down into the valley, and in little time, they could see a gray-stoned fortress about a mile away. The last of the sun gleamed off the bastion before the clouds covered up the rays, one by one, until there was no more sun and only the darkness of an approaching storm.
The rain was coming in fast.
Knowing this, Estevan spurred his horse faster, covering the ground to the fortress at a swift speed. He wanted to announce their arrival and ask for help for the woman, wondering if the Templar nuns were really as aggressive as he’d heard. Men tended to exaggerate, and he could only hope this was the case with St. Margaret’s. He’d never been to this place, but he knewit was St. Margaret’s simply because his family had a castle in the Lowlands called Ashkirk, and in the solar of that castle lay many maps of the area. He knew that because a short time ago, he’d studied the roads before he headed northward, refreshing his memory, and this was the location all of the maps showed St. Margaret’s of Loch Doom.
As he drew near, he could hear a distant shout. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but he looked to the walls of the castle-like abbey, hoping to see someone he could talk to. He hoped to gain their attention, to show he was no threat. He’d slowed his horse to a walk, heading for what looked like the gatehouse, when a big, nasty-looking bolt slammed into the ground a few feet in front of him.
Startled, he yanked his horse to a halt and the animal reared up, frightened by the violence of the bolt. He tried to back up, but another bolt landed behind him, this one too close for comfort. Clearly, whoever was firing the bolts didn’t want him to go anywhere. More than that, they were quite skilled with the weapon. Pulling his horse to a complete halt, he raised one hand while holding the reins with the other.
“I am not bearing arms against ye,” he called out, his deep voice echoing off the walls. “I come seeking help. Why do ye fire bolts at me?”
There was no answer, at least not immediately. His gaze was on the gatehouse and he saw, clearly, when a figure moved inside. It was positioned between the windows facing west, keeping itself concealed. But he also saw when the figure stepped sideways, partially into the light, and he observed the crossbow that was once again loaded and pointed at him.
“Who are you?” a decidedly female voice called to him. “What do you want here?”
“I told ye,” he replied. “I am seeking help.”
“We have no help to give you,” she said. “Move along.”
Estevan shook his head. “Ye misunderstand,” he said. “My brother and cousins and I found a woman on the riverbank, nearly drowned. She’s still alive, but she needs tending. Ye must have someone that can help her.”
By this time, Kaladin and Mateo and Titan and Rodion were catching up to him, with Mateo having an obvious body slung over his thighs. They saw the bolts both before Estevan and behind him and came to a quick stop, staying well out of range of the bolts that were evidently flying from the walls.
