His hand shot up to his belt, and a small knife glittered. Senga screamed a wordless warning, but it was too late. Perhaps it had always been too late.
He lunged towards the Abbess.
Her eyes widened, but she could not duck aside quickly enough.
He grabbed her by the throat and stabbed her twice in the side.
It was over in an eyeblink.
Senga lifted shaking hands towards her mouth. She was faintly aware of Una screaming. Struan was shouting something. Laird Dickson stepped back, his knife dripping blood, and the Abbess sank to the ground, eyes wide, hands clamped to her side. Blood seeped over her fingers.
Laird Dickson kept moving, with the desperate energy of a man doomed. It reminded Senga of when a chicken had its head cut off, and the dead creature twitched and flailed as if it were still alive.
He was running towards Una, knife raised, while Una stared numbly at the Abbess’ still form.
Struan’s blade shot forward, impaling the Laird through the chest.
For a moment, the world stood still. Struan stared at his father, and Laird Dickson stared back at his son, the two of them connected by the long blade of the sword.
Struan let go first, releasing the hilt and staggering backwards, his breath hitching in his throat. Laird Dickson clutched at the blade in his chest, gaping faintly. He collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut, and Struan stood as if turned to stone, staring down at him.
Senga moved first. Her legs were stiff, as if she were knee-deep in mud and couldn’t move fast enough. She raced towards the Abbess, heart pounding in her ears. She could hear nothing over the rush of her own blood, even though she was faintly aware of Una screaming and a faint shouting coming from further down the hill.
Noah was close, she thought.
The battle is over, or just about over. But it’s too late. It’s too late!
Senga skidded to her knees beside the Abbess, who had slumped onto her back. She had her eyes closed, and for one sickening moment, Senga thought that it was already too late.
“Abbess?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
The Abbess eased open her eyes and peered up at Senga. She gave a faint, tired smile.
“I knew he would try to take one of us,” the Abbess whispered. “I was afraid it would be Una or Struan. I stayed close to him so that it would be me.”
“Ye should not have done that,” Senga whispered, crying.
“What of the convent? Are the others safe? They didn’t breach the doors, did they?”
Senga shook her head. “They poured boiling water onto the Dickson soldiers. I think Sister Rosemary might have shot some of them. She was very angry.”
The Abbess gave a chuckle of amused laughter. “Aye, I thought she might do something like that. I knew the convent would be safe with her. Maybe she’ll be the Abbess after I’m gone.”
“Dinnae say that!” Senga cried. “Don’t ye dare say it!”
“It’s over, lass,” the Abbess murmured, turning her eyes upwards. “Oh, and look at that. The clouds are pulling back. A scrap of blue sky, at last.”
Swallowing hard, Senga tilted her head back, peering up at the sky. After days of constant rain and mist, she’d become used to the constant roll of dull skies, sometimes white, sometimes gray with rain.
The Abbess was right, though. The clouds were beginning to clear. Nottoomuch. This was still the Highlands, after all. But there was indeed a little space between the clouds where the blue sky shone prettily down, clear and promising.
Senga closed her eyes, letting the weak sunlight warm her face.
“Senga?” came Una’s tentative voice. “Senga, is the Abbess… is she…”
She opened her eyes and glanced down at the Abbess. The woman had closed her eyes, her skin suddenly very pale, almost translucent.
Una gave a hiccuping sob. “A… A healer. She needs a healer. Quickly, Senga!”
