I spent years of my life waiting for ye in that convent,she thought suddenly, anger rising in her throat like sour bile.All those years, and I need not have wasted my time. Ye were never coming for me, were ye?
Choking back a sob, Senga spun on her heel and walked away towards the shadowy walls of the Keep. Defeated, she went on to find Lade Grahame.
Senga heard Freya’s voice when she was still several rooms away from the Great Hall. Sure enough, when she poked her head in through the door, Freya stood there in her scowling, red-haired glory, wearing some expensive-looking green gown that dragged on the floor behind her. She was facing Sister Abigail, who looked equally displeased, hands on her black-robed hips.
“I have told ye, Lady Grahame,” Sister Abigail snapped, “Senga is not here. She has gone out to fetch?—”
“She ought not to have been allowed to go out at all. The dangers?—”
“Do not fret about the dangers, Freya,” Senga commented, stepping out into the Hall. “I’m here. I’m safe, and I have the shadesflax.”
She didn’t have the strength to tell them about her attack. No doubt Noah would tell them anyway. Sister Abigail offered her a quick smile of relief and took the shadesflax from her grubby, cold-numbed hands, scurrying away.
“Take the rest of the night off, Senga,” Sister Abigail called over her shoulder.
Senga passed a hand over her forehead. “I cannot. There’s too much work to be done.”
“Ye need rest. Take it, or else I’ll let the Abbess know in the next parchment.”
Well, there was no arguing with that. Senga allowed Freya to guide her out of the Great Hall and into the hallway outside, where sturdy wooden benches were placed at intervals, pushed up against the cold stone walls.
She sat down heavily on one bench, and Freya sat beside her.
“Who is he?” Senga bit out before Freya could even speak.
Freya blinked, frowning. “Who?”
“That man ye sent to fetch me. The Captain… Noah.”
“It sounds as though ye already know who he is. Well, he’s our Captain of the Guard. Brendan has known him for years. He’s about the same age as ye, I think. Why?”
Senga let out a ragged, incredulous laugh. “He’s been here, then? At Keep Grahame? Foryears?”
“Aye, I believe so. He was here when the old Laird ruled, but after Brendan escaped, Noah kept his secret and hid him. He’s an ally, always has been. Senga, I don’t understand. Why are ye asking about him?”
Senga squeezed her eyes closed, dropping her head into her hands. The exhaustion of the day seemed to pile upon her all of a sudden. She felt sick. She felt angry. She feltstupid.
“He’s not from Clan Grahame, though, is he?” Senga whispered.
She could feel Freya’s eyes on her, heavy like a weight.
“Nay,” Freya responded at last. “He’s not. I don’t know where he came from, but Brendan trusts him.”
“I can tell ye where he came from,” Senga murmured. “He grew up in Clan Murray.”
Freya sucked in a breath, and Senga glanced up to see consternation on her friend’s face.
“Laird Murray is an ally of Laird Dickson,” Freya said carefully, sharp eyes searching Senga’s face. “His clan is a small one, but they have good warriors.”
“Aye,” Senga responded simply. “Laird Murray is my father.”
Was it her imagination, or did Freya not seem particularly surprised at that? Well, it wouldn’t be too hard for her to learn about Laird Murray’s vanished daughter and put two and two together.
Or perhaps so much had already happened that nothing surprised Freya anymore.
“Tell me what happened, Senga,” Freya urged, leaning close to Senga, shoulder to shoulder. “There’s a story here, I can tell.”
Senga licked her lips. “I’ve spent so long holding back the story, I don’t know if I can make myself say it.”
