She shuddered, thinking of the sisters who had raised her—so gentle, so compassionate, so trusting in the protection of their God. She reeledfrom the sudden realization that all the things she loved about them left them terrifyingly vulnerable.
She struggled to keep from imagining what sort of damage this giant of a man could do to a flock of defenseless women. "What business could you possibly have at the abbey?" she demanded.
Disgust and impatience sparked in the warrior's hard eyes. "I come to claim a wench."
Caitlin crossed herself. "God help her."
Niall gave a snarling laugh. "She will need far more help than your puling God can offer."
"Wh-who..." The question snagged in Caitlin's throat, a hard, barbed thing. She knew before he spoke, felt a horrible sinking in the pit of her stomach.
"They call her by some absurd name. Caitlin of the Lilies."
Caitlin gasped, childhood dreams crumbling into nightmare. "That is impossible!"
Holy Mary, why had she not guessed? Why had she not suspected that what the other sisters had warned her of, feared, was true? That the lilies were sweet poison, luring her to disaster instead of a fragrant path to some wondrous destiny?
Terror drove sudden strength into her limbs, her hands tearing loose the tangled skirts as she scrambled to her feet. One last glimpse of that implacable face burned itself in her memory, then she ran back to everything she had loved yet taken for granted.
But no matter how fast her feet flew Caitlin knew the truth. The abbey walls could not bar a man like that forever. Tears streaked her cheeks Even Reverend Mother's love could not protect her now.
Caitlin felt countless eyes upon her as she ran through the rickety gate, the bevy of sisters gaping when she dragged the heavy bar across it as if an invading army marched against the abbey. Caitlin winced as the aged wood barrier groaned beneath the bar's weight, the gate in danger of tumbling down of its own accord. Sister Luca, a plump woman who often nodded to sleep over her prayers, dropped the bundle of carrots she had been clutching and hastened toward her, alarm in her moon-shaped face. "By Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, child, what has happened?" she asked, brushing the dirt from stubby fingers. "You look as if a horde of devils is at your heels!"
"N-not a horde." Caitlin shuddered. "One is enough!" She was shamed by the tears that stungher eyes, but she could not stop them. "Where is Reverend Mother?"
Luca's cheeks went white. "In her chamber, I think. But she had some private meditation to attend to. She asked not to be disturbed."
Caitlin cast a glance back at the wooden gates, half expecting to hear the thunder of a battering ram, the bellow of the devil's voice, at any moment. A man of the sort she had found in the druid grove would be wise enough to follow her to the abbey. And once he found it, he would not be thwarted by such a paltry barrier as the abbey gates for long.
Caitlin grasped the old nun's sleeve. "Whatever happens, Sister Luca, do not open the gates. You cannot let him in! I beg of you!"
"Let him in? A—a man?" The old woman crossed herself with fierce resolution. "Never, by the sacred blood of Saint Patrick!"
A little comforted, Caitlin wheeled, raced into the stone building. She wound through chambers where she had skipped as a child, played hoodman blind and learned to recite her prayers. A place where danger had never even dared scratch at the window in the form of a childish nightmare.
Her hands shook. Her heart thundered.Reverend Mother would make everything all right. Forever calm, infinitely wise, she would think of some way to help her.
Caitlin rounded a corner, plunged into Reverend Mother's cell. She froze, the sight so blessedly familiar, the place so filled with peace, it seemed almost possible that the scene in the druid grove had been nothing but a wicked dream.
Fine-boned as the most fragile bird yet exuding incredible strength, Reverend Mother leaned over a humble wooden chest, holding something up into the brightest shaft of light from a sliver of window, doubtless so she could see it more clearly with her failing eyes.
Caitlin was stunned to realize that it was the robe she had been wrapped in as a babe: folds of white linen embroidered with birds and horses, interlacing designs worked with threads of gold. Caitlin had thought it had been given away to the poor years ago, like every other worldly possession that came into the convent.
Reverend Mother straightened, alerted by the sound of footsteps that she was no longer alone. The saintly woman turned, her cheeks pink as if she had been caught in some dark, indulgent sin. Her eyes glowed, misty with memories, proudand a little sad. But the moment her gaze locked on Caitlin, she dropped the robe back into the little chest, the fragile folds tumbling in a disordered heap like a broken rainbow.
Brow creased with worry, the abbess crossed to her, framing Caitlin's cheeks in her callused palms. "Caitlin, child? Whatever is amiss? You look ill."
It was harder than Caitlin could have imagined, shattering the older woman's peace, but there was no help for it. "I—I went to the grove."
"Did you injure yourself? Parts of the path are rocky."
"Nay. But my lily... it was not there."
Relief smoothed the creases bracketing Reverend Mother's mouth, a soft empathy gleaming in her eyes. "I know you are disappointed, my dove. Perhaps some woodland creature ran off with it. You and I can go search for your lily together."
"Nay!" The idea of Reverend Mother going out into the woods, facing that beast of a man, was unspeakable. "There was something else in the lily's place." Caitlin was trembling now. She could not stop. A sob broke from her lips. "A horrible beast of a man. He grabbed me and..."
Reverend Mother paled, stricken. But she seemed to draw on her wealth of inner strength and faith to shore her up. She gripped the lid of the chest with one hand to steady herself. "Caitlin, you must tell me what happened," she insisted in a calm, bracing voice. "Everything, child. Did this man... touch you in ways he should not have?"
