“We meet at last, Abbess,” he remarked. “Ye are older than I thought ye would be.”
She smiled. “And ye are smaller. I thought a man who held the Highlands in such an iron grip would be taller and broader.”
He chuckled. “That might have hurt the feelings of a lesser man, but not mine. I learned long ago that size means very little.”
“A wise lesson.”
“Another lesson I learned was that lying is a fine tool,” he continued, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I knew ye would come out if I threatened yer beloved nuns. Ye must have known, deep down, that I could not risk letting them live. And yet I imagine ye could not risk condemning them to death by yer own cowardice.”
“I knew ye were a liar,” she shot back. “We know each other well, I think. Odd, for a couple who have not met.”
“Ye would have made a fine clan leader if ye were a man,” he observed.
The Abbess smiled. “I think I might already be a clan leader, of sorts.”
He gave a brittle smile. “Very pretty words. But tell me, how does it feel to see yer ‘clan’, as ye call it, broken down? Destroyed?”
“I am not sure ye are winning the battle, Laird Dickson.”
“We will retreat and regroup,” he responded tightly. “There will always be another battle.”
“Perhaps so, but this one is not going yer way, is it?”
He ignored her question and leaned forward in his seat. “I ask ye again. How does it feel to know that ye have lost? No matter how this battle ends, ye will die before it is over, as will all of yer nuns. Nobody in that convent will survive, woman. I have decreed it. Yer legacy will be destroyed.”
The Abbess took a moment to reply, scanning the trees and undergrowth around them. The air was entirely still, with not even a hint of breeze to shake the grass.
“The funny thing is,” she murmured thoughtfully, “I would never have had a legacy if it were not for ye, Laird Dickson. Yer malice and cruelty, and the cruelty of those under ye, are what has brought these people together today. I am not the one who brought them together. No, man, it was ye who did that.”
He scowled. “Ye do not know what ye are talking about. Ye truly think ye can play God? I’ll show ye how it’s done, Abbess. All of yer fine ideas about freedom and education and how women should live will die with ye here today. Yer life is over, and so are yer teachings.”
“Ach, man, it’s not so easy. People die easier than ideas, I can promise ye that,” she chuckled, shaking her head.
Her smile seemed to infuriate him. He scrambled to his feet, coming almost nose-to-nose with her.
“I will restore the Highlands to their previous glory,” Laird Dickson seethed, “even if I have to soak the hills in blood.”
She met his eye steadfastly. “We’re old, ye and I. Not as young as we once were. Ye can deny it all ye like, man, but that’s the truth, plain and simple. The fact is that we don’t have much say in the future… not anymore. No, the Highlands are in the hands of the next generation.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, ye think so?”
“I do,” she agreed. “And let me tell ye, the next generation… is a very good chess player.”
Laird Dickson blinked, momentarily confused. Then his eyes widened with understanding.
It was a split second too late. Struan stepped out of the forest, knife in hand, and neatly slit the throat of a guard. The man crumbled, dying without a sound, and Struan reached for the next man.
Chapter 19
Ye Should Have Killed Me
“Faster, Bluebell, faster!” Senga gasped, leaning forward over the horse’s neck. The horse seemed to fly over the earth, snorting, steam rising from her flanks.
She was racing alongside the convent, the battle still raging to her left. Noah had begged her to wait until he could get some soldiers together, but Senga was determined to see what was going on. If Laird Dickson’s men were truly trying to break into the convent, time could be of the essence. The great front doors of the convent were just up ahead, and she could hear a lot of shouting. A scream echoed, and it struck her that she could not hear theboom-boomof a battering ram.
Above the pounding of her own blood in her ears, a single thought took shape.
Am I too late?
