Senga thought about arguing but decided that she was too tired. After all, the business of her father and the man she’d once loved would still wait for her in the morning.
This was not a reassuring thought.
Chapter 3
Old Scars And New
The next day dawned bright and clear, the air crisp enough to freeze a person solid if they stood still too long. The courtyard cobbles were slick with frost and ice, and the horses steamed nervously where they stood, ready to pull carts full of people and belongings.
Senga watched them, arms folded tight across her chest. She didn’t even notice Astrid until she appeared beside her, hands tucked in her wide sleeves.
“It’s not too late to change yer mind, Senga,” Astrid remarked idly. “Ye can choose to come with us. We’d like ye to come.”
Kyla appeared beside her, blinking large eyes. Her hand rested over her belly, where Senga knew that a child was beginning to grow already.
“Oh, aye,” she piped up. “The convent will need some work to rebuild what we had, to say nothing of earning the trust of the locals once more. I’d like ye to come.”
Senga bit her lower lip. “I’m tempted, I’ll not lie, but Freya has asked me to remain here to manage their infirmary. They have good healers here at Keep Grahame, but they want direction. Besides, I have to leave the convent sooner or later, eh?”
Astrid nodded slowly, and there was something like sympathy in her eyes. “We’ll miss ye, lass.”
“Ye won’t have time to miss me,” Senga shot back. “Ye have yer own clan to run, and Kyla here has a baby. As for Una…”
“As for Una, what?” the woman in question responded, stepping out of the Keep and stretching her arms. A sword clanked at her side—Una was never without her weapons these days.
“Well, Una has a rebellion to run,” Senga finished, snorting.
The four of them stood there for a while, staring down at the carts preparing to leave. She couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that her friends were going to leave, and that she would be left behind.
This is how it must be,Senga told herself firmly.It’s all for the best,
“I am glad ye are staying,” Kyla murmured after a while, her voice quiet. “It’s high time ye found yer own path, Senga.”
She glanced sharply at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Kyla shook her head. “I mean nothing. Forgive me. Now, I suppose I had better go. We have a long way to travel, eh?”
The carts were loaded up now with nuns, supplies, and a few other people. Senga spotted familiar faces, old friends, and people she knew she’d miss.
Perhaps I’m making a mistake.
If she had made a mistake, she was running out of time to fix it. Sure, the distance between Keep Grahame and the Convent of St. Deborah was not an insurmountable one, but if Laird Dickson’s armies came between them, then Senga might as well be on the moon.
Kyla’s husband, Thomas, came forward with a smile, hand outstretched, and helped her up onto a cart loaded with cushions. Astrid sailed forward to climb up beside her, whereas Una would be riding. Senga kept a smile on her face.
The last nuns climbed onto the back of the cart. Some would have preferred to walk, but they’d go faster on horseback and in the carts. Speed was of the essence here. Senga kept her eyes peeled for Bluebell, the horse belonging to the poor man who’d lost his leg and was due to be buried this morning, but she didn’t see the horse. Bluebell was staying here, then.
A shout went up from the head of the convoy. Heads turned back towards the Keep, and Senga’s head turned with them. Laird and Lady Grahame, Brendan and Freya, stood in the doorway, hand in hand. They were going to give a speech, Senga realized. It would be a short speech, a quick well-wishing, and perhaps a prayer for luck. She glanced over at her friends, and found that their faces were all turned up to Freya and Brendan, waiting and listening.
She didn’t want to be there for the final goodbye. Swallowing hard, Senga turned pointedly away from the convoy. As she hurried along the side of the Keep walls towards a quiet little side entrance, she heard Brendan start to speak. By the time she started inside the dark doorway, applause had broken out in the courtyard, the sound twanging at Senga’s headache.
Letting out a long, shaking breath, she calmed herself, trying to take stock of where she was.
The doorway, apparently, led to yet another stretch of Grahame Keep which she had never visited. It opened onto a long hallway, studded with doorways at regular intervals. The closeness and darkness of the corridor made her think that it was part of the servants’ quarters, the rabbit warren of halls and rooms and staircases that made a maze of the Keep.
If I keep going straight,Senga thought, trying to regain her bearings,I’ll come out in the kitchens somewhere.
Her choices were simple now—go forward or go back. Go forward into the bowels of Keep Grahame and risk getting lost, or go back into the bright, cold-sun courtyard and risk panickingand jumping on board the last of the carts headed back to the convent.
