Freya couldn’t quite believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.
It’s his fault,she told herself.He makes me act strangely. I only wish I knew why.
Brendan’s mouth worked as if he were trying not to laugh.
“I cannot be seen flirting with a nun. Did I not tell ye last night to stay away from me?”
“Aye, but I’m not good at doing what I’m told,” she sighed. “Besides, ye won’t get rid of me for a week at least, so why not make the best of it? Humor me. Let’s go for a drink.”
He eyed her incredulously. “A drink? Ye are dressed as anun. The wimple is a good idea, by the way. Hides yer hair.”
She shrugged. “We both know how much wine and beer ye deliver to the Priory, so I think it’s fair to say that not many of us are abstaining. Go on, I need something to cheer me up.”
He sighed, shaking his fine. “Fine. One drink, then I return ye to Kyla. And only to keep ye out of trouble!”
She beamed. Brendan gestured for her to follow him, and led her across the courtyard.
There was something different in his manner this morning. Perhaps he’d had time to sleep on it, or was just in a better mood, or… Oh, she didn’t know. The man was a closed book, not at all like the smiling, charming men and women she’d been used to in Keep McInnes.
Back then, I was Lady Freya McInnes, and it was useful to be my friend,she thought wryly.Nobody wanted to offend me. Now… I’m nobody.
It was refreshing, though. Being nobody.
Brendan led her to a ramshackle little pub with a sagging roof and an overflowing gutter. A wooden sign hung at an angle, creaking rustily in the breeze. Under the scrawled name, there was a bad painting of a striped cat holding a foaming tankard of ale.
“The Drunken Tabby,” she read out. “This yer local pub, then?”
“Aye, it’s a decent enough place. Ned and Annie won’t balk at serving ale to a nun. In ye go.”
He held open the door, and Freya ducked past him.
Inside, the pub was dark and musty, but cleaner than she’d expected. A portly man stood behind the counter, eyes nearly popping when he saw her.
“Evening, Ned,” Brendan said. “Two ales, I think.”
“Of course, of course. Good day to ye, Sister,” the man mumbled, nodding at Freya. He bustled away behind the counter, and Brendan led her over to a table with two chairs.
“One drink,” he reminded her, voice low. “Then back to Kyla.”
She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “Ye still owe me a secret.”
“I owe ye nothing, lassie,” Brendan shot back, but there was no bite in his voice. “Look, ye seem like a nice girl, but this place isn’t for ye. Ye deserve freedom, and waiting around in a place where ye might lose it is a bad idea.”
“It seems to me,” Freya said slowly, “that ye can’t decide whether ye want to help me or avoid me.”
He sighed. “It’s not that. I… I’ve been where ye are before, Freya. Alone. Abandoned, with nowhere to go and a dangerous man on my trail. I wound up here, too. I would have never found my feet, and if it hadn’t been for Abbess Tenet and the sisters, I don’t know what would have become of me. I don’t want ye to flounder like I did.”
She chewed her lip, suddenly nervous. “I like ye, Brendan. I’d like to spend more time with ye. I know I’m a wee bit too much, but… Well, this is the first real freedom I’ve ever had.”
He nodded. “I understand. Flinging yourself at the first man ye fancy isn’t a good idea, though. Even if he is helping ye.”
She flushed, pulling back. “That’s not… That’s not what’s happening. Do ye think I’m some sort of fool, who can’t be trusted to?—”
He held up his hand. “Nay, Freya, I never meant to?—”
The door flew open with a crash, and a trio of men stalked in. Freya’s heart sank, and she saw the color drain from Brendan’s face.
The men were Grahame soldiers, and one of them held a piece of paper with a sketch of Freya’s face on it.
