Senga cursed under her breath and pulled back, seizing a piece of her skirt and tearing off a long strip.
“I am a healer,” she snapped. “Run to the convent, one of ye. Get bandages and something to clot blood. Quickly, Una.Run!”
Una took off at a run. Out of the corner of her eye, Senga saw Noah racing towards her, his face pale. She would greet him in a moment, and tell him that their fight was over, but not yet.
Not yet.
The Abbess gave a low, throaty chuckle, a smile spreading across her face.
“Checkmate,” she whispered.
Epilogue
One Month Later
It seemed appropriate to celebrate the end of the war at the convent itself. The doors were thrown open. No luxury was promised, but there was food and drink and beds for those who needed them, and the library, the glorious library, was open to whoever wanted to see it.
Senga walked past the open library door, peering inside to see Kyla leading yet another group of fascinated women through the stacks of books. Men were interested in the fabulous St. Deborah’s library too, but there always seemed to be more women than men. Men, after all, weren’t forbidden to learn in many clans.
That was changing. The lairds loyal to Laird Dickson had mostly fled or been disposed of by their own people, and the new lairds were willing to look to clans Grahame and Kenneth as an example. And yes, to the convent. They were willing to listen.
That was the best start, wasn’t it? Being willing to listen. That was the best start.
Senga poked her head into the library, catching Kyla’s eye.
“Food will be served soon,” she called. “Will ye be ready?”
Kyla smiled, nodding. “Aye, I’ll be ready.”
Thomas stood behind her, of course. He’d scarcely left her side after the battle, after she’d come so close to being murdered in the convent by Dickson soldiers.
Senga smiled back and moved away from the library. She peered into the infirmary as she went, which had finally discharged the last of its injured, men and women who’d been hurt badly in the last battle.
Itisthe last battle, though,she reminded herself, biting back a smile.We did it.
Oh, there was leftover sadness, of course there was. Struan had killed his own father, even though Laird Dickson was a vile man who would have killed his own children. It would take time for Struan to forgive himself, but in the meantime, he had Una to take care of him. She’d asked Una once what she and Struan planned to do when the battle was over.
“Well,” Una had responded, shrugging faintly, “Clan Dickson needs help, doesn’t it? Kyla and Thomas are too wrapped up in their books. I suppose Struan and I will have to manage it.”
That was a fair point. Senga was deeply relieved that she would not be expected to be laird or lady of her own clan. Clan Murray, small as it was, had been divided up between other clans, and that seemed to be the best solution for everybody. Laird Murray would live out his days in the dungeons he’d promised to his daughter.
For me, at least,Senga thought wryly.
She passed Sister Abigail in the hall, her arms full of medical supplies. Sister Abigail caught her eye, nodded, and smiled. There was a sort of solidarity between them now, the two women who’d been chosen to survive and tell the story. Sister Abigail had been attacked by Murray men, Senga knew now, and hadfled. She’d made it all the way to Keep Kenneth before she heard that the battle was won.
I would never have made it if the battle had gone poorly,Senga thought.It would have been Sister Abigail who carried our story off that battlefield. The Abbess chose well.
A familiar tightness closed around her chest at the memory of the Abbess but she put it aside. Now was a time to rejoice. This was acelebration.
Senga walked on, hearing the noise and laughter of the feasting hall just ahead. The heat washed over her the moment she stepped inside, and Senga found herself smiling at all the merriment. The table was piled high with food. Roast chicken, duck, pork and sides of beef, all served on trenchers of bread, with plenty of ale and wine kept in overflowing jugs all along the table. There were vegetables too, huge bowls of fluffy boiled potatoes smothered in butter, and bowls of carrots, parsnips, onions, and turnips from the gardens, tossed in butter, mint, and oil. There were tureens of soup that Senga could not identify but which smelled truly delicious.
“Senga!” Brendan cried, rising to his feet and holding up a foaming mug of ale. “To yer good health!”
There was a roar of agreement at this, and at least a hundred mugs were lifted her way. Everybody drank deeply, some choking and spluttering before bursting into laughter. Biting back laughter, Senga slipped along the side of the room, searching the benches for her husband.
She spotted Freya, just as drunk as her husband, leaning up against him and whispering something in his ear. Kai and Astrid were there too, of course, confident in the knowledge that their Kenneth archers had helped win the battle. Sister Rosemary sat with a huddle of her friends, talking and laughing and eating, their faces lit up with happiness.
Ah. There he was.
