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The monk switched his war club to his left hand and blocked her attack. He chuckled. “That’s the problem with right-handed women. You cannot match my skill.” He ran at Yesenda so fast. It almost took her by surprise.Almost.
The monk aimed his war club at her right hand to dislodge her weapon. In a move he hadn’t expected, Yesenda flicked her mace behind her back. All the while, she kept her eyes on him. He watched the mace spin in the air behind her. Then she raised her arm and caught the handle in her left hand. It was an effortless move and he knew he had made a grave error in judgement when she brought the mace crashing down against his unguarded rib. It connected, and he heard the crunching sound as the flanges broke bones and tore through his flesh. He winced in pain as shock registered on his face.
“Tis lucky that I am left-handed,” Yesenda smirked as the monk collapsed to his knees.
He still attempted to swing his club as blood poured from his side. Iain slammed his foot on the handle and kicked it away.
The monk grimaced in pain as blood poured from his wound. His breathing was shallow, and Yesenda was familiar with the sound. It was from broken ribs and a punctured lung. If she did not help him soon, he would die.
“Who sent you?” Yesenda demanded.
He remained silent.
“Tell me who sent you, and I can heal your wounds?” Yesenda said.
Still, he remained silent.
“Answer her!” Iain shouted.
The monk looked up at her, his face a mask of unsettling serenity. He pulled out a dagger and yelled,“Nam Episcopus et Anglia!”–For the Bishop. For England.Then he stabbed himself in the heart.
“No!” she yelled, but it was too late.
“Why did he call you Miriam Ferguson?” Iain demanded.
“I dinnae ken, I just played along,” she lied. But Yesenda’s mind was already alert to more attacks.
As Bram entered the room, he assured her Sorcha, and the bairns were well.
Yesenda warned him the danger had not passed.
“What do you mean?” Bram asked.
“This man is a part of a brotherhood. They travel in twos and wherever they go, people end up dead,” she replied.
“What does that mean?” Iain demanded.
“It means we are still in danger until we find his companion.” She turned to Sorcha and asked, “Did he mention anything else? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Aye, he said something about healers.”
“Where is Tyra?” she asked.
“She was headed back to the glen,” Bram said.
Yesenda did not wait. She bolted out the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Iain growled as he followed close behind her.
“Tyra is in danger!” she yelled.
It turned out Yesenda was right, and it was her healing skills and Lachlan Gair’s quick thinking that saved Tyra’s life.
***
Claymores
Several hours later, once the danger had passed, and things had settled within the glen and the Keep, another unwelcome visitor arrived.
