AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Sister Brigh sniffed. “You just have to look at him to see he’s a dangerous rogue likely to slit your throat. No respectable gentleman carries scarring like that.”
It was true. The man’s body spoke of untold violence and a sinister past as dark as his eyes. But Sabrina had seen no signs of murderous intent. Felt no fear in his presence other than the fear that she was making a fool of herself.
Sister Brigh’s assumptions were taken up with worried agreement by the others. Argument ensued, voices competing for dominance as each brought their views before Ard-siúr.
Sabrina burrowed deeper into her chair. Why she’d been included in this afternoon’s meeting had not been made clear—possibly because Sister Ainnir’s work in the hospital fell more and more to Sabrina as the elderly priestess’s health waned—but she didn’t want anyone to suddenly question her right to be included. That “anyone” most likely to be Sister Brigh, who questioned every decision and took every opportunity to challenge Ard-siúr’s authority.
Ard-siúr’s quiet control cut through the squabbling. “All your concerns are understandable and duly noted, but my decision is made.” Ard-siúr’s pointed stare directed squarely at Sister Brigh. There followed the rustle of skirts, the babble of conversation. “You may go, my sisters.”
Sabrina eased out of her chair. Took up her place at the end of the line of chattering women.
“Hold a moment, Sabrina,” Ard-siúr said with a hand upon her arm. Waiting until the flock of women withdrew before ushering her back to her seat. Leaning against her desk, arms folded, lips tipped in amusement. “Do you agree w
ith my decision? Or, like Sister Brigh and the others, do you think I should have sent the poor man on his way?”
The head of the order asked her opinion? This was a first. And a hopeful portent. Perhaps her elevation to full priestess drew close. She hesitated, weighing her words. It wouldn’t do to queer things now with some rash, unthinking response. “I believe, Ard-siúr, you acted in the only way you could. That is to say, all sorts of dangers lay beyond our boundaries. Worse for someone who’d have no idea from where the danger might come.” Her words came faster, her thoughts racing ahead of her tongue. “No, he must stay. At least until he recovers his health. And I discover . . . I mean, we discover who he is and what happened to him.” Now she babbled, plain and simple.
Ard-siúr’s wrinkles stretched in a half smile. “You’ve taken quite an interest in Daigh MacLir’s fate.”
Heat crept up Sabrina’s throat to stain her cheeks.
Ard-siúr nodded her dismissal, moving past Sabrina toward the door. Turning in a swish of skirts. “I nearly forgot. The letter.” Returning to her desk, she pulled a folded and sealed page from a drawer. Handed it over. “I believe it’s from your brother.”
“Kilronan?” Sabrina asked stupidly, the smooth, expensive foolscap slippery beneath her fingers.
Ard-siúr caught her in a sharp, appraising look. “Would you be expecting word from another brother?”
A dull lump swelled in her chest. Oh, why had she felt it necessary to put the whole horrible episode down on paper? She’d not dwelled on her family’s fractured separation for years. Now she knew why. It hurt too much. “No, ma’am. No letter. Nothing.”
“Very well. You may go.”
Sabrina slid the letter into her apron pocket. Moved with stinging eyes toward the door. Wiped them with the back of her sleeve. She’d tried putting her family behind her. But reliving that tragic day had brought all her hurt and abandonment to the surface like oil upon water.
“And Sabrina?”
“Ma’am?”
Ard-siúr’s solemn, weighty stare pinned her to the floor. “Should Brendan Douglas ever attempt to contact you, you will let me know, won’t you?”
Sabrina escaped without answering. Jostled her blind way through a crowd of women in the passage. Disregarded Jane’s shouted halloo across the cloister. Ignored Sister Brigh’s outraged mutter as she bumped into her upon the dormitory stairs.
Only stopped to catch her breath in the blessed momentary privacy of her bedchamber. Shuddering. Her back pressed against the door panels. Stupid tears burning her eyes.
For seven years she’d assumed Brendan was dead. How else to account for his lack of letters or visits or any word at all. But could the Amhas-draoi be telling the truth? Could Brendan still live? Could he be the blackhearted villain they claimed he was?
Ard-siúr certainly seemed to believe it.
So, what if he did contact her?
Where did her true loyalty reside?
If asked to make a choice between her old family and her new, whom would she betray?
Daigh scanned the room he’d been brought to with a searching eye. Desk. Case clock. A pairing of old cane-backed chairs. A long, low table upon which stood decanters, a scattering of various stones, shards of quartz, a bowl of dried petals. Thick Turkey carpets covered the flagged floor. Wall tapestries moved in the incessant breeze through poorly chinked mortar. He found himself transfixed by stags and hounds in regal red and gold. Stylized sea creatures amid a woolen sea of blues and greens. Flowers and leaves needled in exquisite detail so that one’s eye couldn’t help but follow the woven floral design across the cloth. A rendering of gray-veiled attendants following a curtained litter toward an open tomb. He scowled, focusing on a lone attendant standing with outstretched hands and eyes cast up toward a single star.
“You’ve recovered far faster than we expected, considering the shape you were in upon your arrival.”
He drew his attention back from the puzzled tangle of his own impenetrable thoughts. Stood body braced and shoulders back. Met the triple spear-point stares of the trio of gray-gowned bandraoi with a sharp, assenting jerk of his head.
