“Goodness, lad, how concerned ye are with the women of this convent,” Struan observed. Thomas stiffened, and he knew he’d touched a nerve. “I imagine ye consider them quite yers, after the battle ye fought for them.”
“We belong to no one, lad,” the nun spoke up, taking a step forward.
Struan glanced over at her and met her eye.
With a shiver, he realized that he was not speaking to an ordinary nun.
“Ye must be the Abbess, then,” he murmured. “How interesting.”
She did not bother to reply. She seemed to beappraisinghim, looking him up and down with that cool, thoughtful gaze. Her expression gave nothing away, which left Struan feeling unsettled.
“We’ll talk, ye and I,” she said bluntly, and it took Struan a moment to understand that she was talking about him. “Bring him to my study. Una,yecan go about picking the herbs. Cook needs them within the hour.”
Still looking crestfallen and guilty, Una nodded wordlessly and picked up the basket.
Struan was shownto a fairly ordinary-looking room, not at all the sort of thing he would expect from the Abbess of such a notable convent. The first thing he noticed was an ugly round copper mirror, bulging from a wall. It reflected the room in an odd, distorted way, like the curved surface of an eye, and Struan couldn’t shake the feeling that the awful thing was looking at him.
He was pushed unceremoniously down into a seat, and the Abbess settled herself behind the desk. It was overflowing with papers and books, but enough space had been cleared in the center to allow for a ratty old wooden chessboard. The pieces were scattered over the board, still embroiled in a game.
“I hope ye enjoyed ye wee spar,” she said at last, sounding more amused than angry. “I doubt that Thomas will let it happen again.”
Struan grunted. “What’s that to me? I don’t intend to be here much longer.”
“I’m sure ye don’t,” she agreed. “And ye shall not.”
He frowned. “Are ye sending me back to Keep Dickson?”
She gave a faint smile. “Heavens, no. But ye are being moved along. I’m sorry I couldn’t get ye aboveground for air earlier. Everybody else was against it.”
“And yet ye got yer own way in the end.”
“I always do.”
The Abbess laced her fingers together, leaning forward. She tilted her head, eyeing him curiously.
“Kyla has told me a little about yer father,” she said at last. Struan stiffened. “I can’t imagine how bad it was, growing up with a man like that.”
“I admire my father more than any man alive.”
“I can believe that,” she agreed, “in so much as that ye do not admire anybody at all.”
He scoffed. “Ye don’t know what ye are saying.”
“Don’t I? I couldn’t help but hear what ye were saying to Una as ye sparred. I have good hearing, ye know, and we were hurrying across the gardens towards ye. Ye told her—if I recall correctly—that during a fight one must take a breath. One must keep emotions out of it, aye?”
Where was this going? He stared at her, brows knitted, but the woman’s serene face gave nothing away.
“Aye.”
“Perhaps ye have just been afforded that opportunity. After all, ye have been fighting since ye were, what, fifteen? Now ye can take a breath. Clear yer head.Think.”
“I don’t understand,” he responded, and meant it.
The Abbess only smiled. “Ye might understand in time. Then again, ye might not. My instinct for people is good, but not infallible.”
He wondered if the woman was going senile. She didn’t seem old enough, but you could never tell.
“I will not change my opinions or my loyalty, if that is what ye mean,” he snarled, leaning forward. “Nothing ye can say or do will change my mind.”
