It was her he’d come to see.
But it was a woman who was evidently too busy to see him immediately or had no real desire to. The man with the ragged beard wasn’t beyond charging through the convent looking for the woman; therefore, he hoped, for their sakes, that the nun who had answered the door had genuinely gone in search of the abbess as instructed. Men like Alasdair Baird Douglas were not men to be trifled with; he’d killed his share of women right along with his share of men. Even though he was in a holy house, it made little difference to the career killer. If the Mother Abbess didn’t show herself soon, he’d have to go looking for her and eliminate anyone who stood in his way.
Fortunately, his murder rampage was suspended when the little nun he’d sent to fetch the Mother Abbess returned with three women in tow. They were all wearing unbleached wool habits, heavy and uncomfortable, and the only thing showing was their faces. They all looked the same to him; small-featured, brown-eyed, and dull.
One of the women, rounder than the rest, gestured to the cold hearth in the chamber and one of the other sisters scurried over to it and began to prepare a blaze. Alasdair glanced at the woman kneeling next to the hearth but he didn’t give her further regard. He was more interested in the women that were standing before him. He looked at the small nun whose features he recognized.
“Where is your Mother Abbess?” he asked.
The young nun pointed to the round woman who had ordered the hearth lit. “It is she.”
Alasdair turned his full attention to the woman in white, now seeing that she was older than the others, her dark eyes sharp and glittering. She made her way towards him slowly, with a massive staff in one hand, like a walking stick, but heavy enough to beat a man to death. She was gazing back at him in an appraising manner.
“Are ye Seaxburga?” Alasdair asked.
The woman nodded, once. “I am the Mother Abbess of St. Blitha,” she replied. “Who are you?”
Alasdair eyed the woman. “Do ye swear this?”
The woman cocked her head as if insulted by his question. “’Tis you who has sought me,” she said in a heavy accent that was not Scottish or even French. Alasdair had heard it before; it was Italian. “If you do not believe I am who I say I am, then I shall bid you a good day. You will leave.”
Alasdair didn’t move; he continued to regard the woman, carefully, as if trying to determine if she was truly Seaxburga, the woman he’d been told to deliver the missive to. He caught sight of another nun in his periphery, a woman who was simply passing by the room. She was slender and lovely, with a graceful neck and a pale, pretty face. She was a beautiful young woman who seemed oddly out of place in such a dark and dismal place, but Alasdair wasn’t looking at her beauty. He was looking for confirmation.
He yelled to her.
“Ye!” he boomed. “Stop! Who is this woman?”
He was pointing at the Mother Abbess. The nun he had interrupted, now frozen fearfully where she had come to a halt, gazed apprehensively between the man who had yelled at her and the round woman in the fine robes. Annoyed at the delay, Alasdair boomed again.
“Whois this woman?” he demanded.
The interrupted nun jumped at the sound of his voice. “Our Gracious Mother!”
She fled. Alasdair turned back to the Mother Abbess, now satisfied that an independent source had confirmed the woman’s identity. His annoyance at the situation in general seemed to ease.
“Ye will forgive me, yer ladyship,” he said. “I bear a very important message. I did not want tae give it tae the wrong person.”
The Mother Abbess wasn’t so forgiving of his rude behavior. Her expression was unfriendly.
“What do you have for me?” she asked. “And who has sent you?”
Alasdair didn’t say a word. He simply presented her with a missive that he pulled out of his saddlebag, extending it to the enrobed woman. The Mother Abbess inspected the long, rolled parchment a moment before extending a hand, retrieving it. She held it very close to her eyes, for they were not very good these days, and inspected the dark red seal.
Recognition flickered.
Now, she was very interested in the man’s appearance. Lifting her eyes from the missive, she hissed at the nuns standing around her, ordering them away. She even ordered the nun away who was just now starting the fire in the hearth. Smoke snaked into the room, filling the air with blue haze. As the infant blaze sparked and the nuns fled, the Mother Abbess took a step closer to Alasdair.
“The seal of the Holy Father is on this parchment,” she said, her voice low.
Alasdair nodded. “I have just come from him,” he replied. “He has sent me a very long way tae bring ye this missive.”
The Mother Abbess’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why would he send you?” she asked. “The Holy Father has many men who serve him. Who are you to him?”
“I am his servant,” Alasdair said, sensing her distrust. “He sent me tae England tae deliver the missive because I know the country. I would know where to find ye.”
“You are not English. You are clearly from Scotland.”
Alasdair gave a weak smile. “I am,” he confirmed, “but my mother is aSassenach. I have spent my share of time here.”
