"You understand nothing." The abbess glared at him, her eyes burning with emotion. "Will he care for her? This chieftain of yours? Will he protect her? See that she is happy? In all these years, we have heard not a word from him! We knownothing of his plans for her. All her life, Caitlin has been loved. The abbey is her home."
Niall shifted his feet, uncomfortable with the intensity in the abbess's features, a heart laid bare, love, grief, defiance, courage. An odd mixture he had not seen in the years since he had last looked into his sister's small face.
"A high chieftain is not required to confide his plans to a simple abbess or to one of his warriors. We are his subjects. We do whatever he asks of us."
"I have far more allegiance to Caitlin than to any distant chieftain. A loyalty forged in love, not duty or fear. I will do anything in my power to protect her."
Niall looked into her face, a sharp retort on his tongue. Yet truth was, it would be simple enough for the old nun to spirit the girl away into one of countess hiding places where he could never find her. Leave him stumbling around the countryside like a fool, possibly to return to his chieftain empty-handed.
He wanted to rage at the woman, force her to his will, but he had stared into the faces of enough enemies in battle to know instinctively if their resolution would waver when he pressed them. This woman would let him cleave her intwo if it would protect the girl. Something twisted in his chest. Loyalty had always moved him, perhaps because his own father's allegiances had shifted like the winds. From his chieftain and his wife to a woman who had driven him mad with lust.
Niall gazed into the abbess's eyes, wanting to offer her some small comfort. "You ask about the chieftain. I cannot tell you his plans for your fosterling. But I can tell you this. He is a good ruler. A just one."
The hope that flickered in the abbess's face was almost painful, edged by doubt. "You are his messenger. Of course, you would praise him."
He had stated the truth. Was tempted to leave it at that. If the old woman worried, it was her own choice. Yet he found he could not ignore the terror in her, the love.
It was harder to speak than he could have imagined. Why? he wondered vaguely. His lineage was no secret. His link to the chieftain had been spread around every campfire from Slieve Mish to the Irish Sea.
"I was the son of the chieftain's greatest enemy. After my father's treachery and execution, Conn should have left me to starve. Instead, Conn brought me to his court. Made me hisfoster son. Every man around him argued against it, feared it, but Conn was more a father to me than the villain who sired me."
"That was generous," the abbess allowed.
"The chieftain was more than generous to me. He fed me, sheltered me, taught me to fight."
"But how can I trust you? Take your word? I have never looked upon your face until today."
"You can trust me because of the other gift Conn offered me. One far more precious than any of the others. A chance to redeem my honor."
"Your honor?"
"Conn gave me seven tasks. Seven quests to wipe away the stain of my father's treachery. I have performed six of them. Deeds I have bled to fulfill. Delivering Caitlin of the Lilies to his court is the final task Conn has assigned me. Can you ask for any better proof of the chieftain's intentions toward her than that?"
The abbess seemed to be wavering, torn. "But she is... is so young. She has seen none of the world. Knows nothing of life. She has never even looked upon any man save Father Columcille. You are a warrior. To send her off with you alone—"
Niall peered into the abbess's face, one that, for all its devotion and quiet goodness, wasetched with lines and shadows left by the harsh edges of life. A stark reality both Niall and the older woman understood far too well.
"I will take the girl, whether you will it or no," Niall admitted, unflinchingly honest. "But this I swear to you by all you think holy. I will keep her safe." His eyes narrowed, fierce with resolve. "I would suffer the tortures of your Christian damned before I failed my chieftain."
Someone was coming.
Caitlin froze, listening to the measured crunch of footsteps, a wild panic jolting through her as she wondered if the approaching person brought deliverance or doom. The prayers she had been uttering died in her throat, and she glanced at the round-eyed Sister Luca, who cowered in the farthest reaches of the hut, her terror echoing Caitlin's own.
Was the old nun's imagination running wild as Caitlin's was? Envisioning the warrior stalking toward the clochán hut, his body too powerful, his muscles gleaming, rugged as the rock wall of a sea-dampened cliff? Even misted by her imagination, the intensity in his eyes seemed to burnaway the very air until Caitlin could not breathe. Nay. Caitlin brought herself up sharply. Such dark fantasies were only making things worse.
She fought to hide the tremor that swept up her spine as a shadow fell across the doorway of the stone hut. But it was not the silhouette of a broad-shouldered man, but rather the rippling waves of a nun's garb.
"Sister Clare!" She gasped in relief, Sister Luca clumsily crossing herself as the young nun stepped forward.
"Is he gone?" Caitlin asked, more in desperation than real hope.
"No. He is with the abbess now. I am to take you to her."
A sudden urge to run struck Caitlin, and she all but scooped up her skirts and fled. But Sister Luca reached out, patting her arm. "All must be well, or the abbess would never have summoned you. You must trust in God."
Despite all the convent's teachings, Caitlin was shamed to realize that she would far rather trust in Reverend Mother. She would die before she shamed the abbess by fleeing like a frightened child. Sister Luca was right. The warrior must be tamed to Reverend Mother's will, or she would never have risked summoning Caitlin.
Sister Clare and Sister Luca started forward, as if to mount guard on either side of her, the two nuns the most ridiculous and precious of sentries. Straightening her spine, Caitlin shook back her tumbled black locks. "I shall go alone. I would sooner be flayed alive than let that man think for a moment I fear him."
