Almost as soon as he formulated the thought, Brendan realized with a sinking heart that itwashis business. She’d gone to the convent, and might well be traced there.
Kidnapped. They’d say she was kidnapped by an order of troublesome nuns. That would kill two birds with one stone. It would allow Laird Grahame to brush past the humiliation of having a woman run away rather than marry him, and it would rid him of a particularly troublesome gaggle of nuns into the bargain.
I’ll have to warn them. The Abbess needs to hear about this.
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
The man tilted his head. “Ye sure? She’s a wee, pretty thing. I saw her myself, one day in the Keep. Short, slim, red-headed, beautiful. Shame about her freckles, of course. Seen anyone like that?”
“Not that I can think of.”
The man stared at him for a minute or two longer, then seemingly decided that Brendan was too dull to persecute. Ned appeared from the kitchen with a tray of steaming pies, and the soldiers’ attention was distracted. Once they were served, Ned came hurrying up to Brendan.
“I don’t want trouble, lad,” he whispered. “I know ye can be a bit punchy if yer temper’s up.”
“I’m not a fool enough to punch a Grahame soldier,” Brendan replied.
So long as they don’t recognize me, of course.
He didn’t say the last part out loud.
“Just be careful, aye?”
“I just want to listen in. In case… Well, in case.”
Ned caught his eye, and nodded.
In case, they talk about St. Deborah’s.
Even if I did want to give up Freya McInnes to the Grahames, I wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t do it, not without putting the convent in danger. What would this town be without them?
On cue, one of the men spoke up, waving Ned over.
“I heard,” he said, already slurring his words, although he’d barely gotten to the bottom of one tankard. “There’s a wee convent near here that lets women dobook learning. Is that true? I never credited it, myself.”
“It’s not natural,” another man agreed. “My wife never learned to read, and neither will any of my daughters. What would they need it for?”
There was a general murmuring of agreement.
“If a woman wants to read, that’s the business of her husband or father,” the third man reasoned. “But if she’s going about encouraging others to do it… Well, what’s the use of putting ideas in their heads? Waste o’ time. Waste o’teaching.”
“It can’t be true,” the first man said. “Laird Grahame would have put a stop to it by now. This place might be just on the borders of Grahame land, but still. Why would he not just close the place down?”
“What if the nuns wouldn’t go?” another man, the youngest, asked.
The first two men exchanged glances.
“They’d be made to go,” the first man said at last.
All three of them glanced at Ned.
“Well? Is it true?”
Ned swallowed hard, a bead of sweat trickling down his round face. “Well, I-I don’t rightly know, lads.”
“Ye must know!”
The first man narrowed his eyes. “Not protecting them, are ye? I hate how these ugly little towns band together over things like this.”
