“Let’s hurry on, then,” Una ordered. “We won’t be safe until we’re within the Keep walls.”
There wasan audible ripple of relief, row by row, as the convoy entered the gates. Once everybody was inside, the gates were lowered with a resounding clang.
The courtyard was full. Not with market stalls, people, and visitors, but with tents, makeshift shacks, and shelters—everything that could house a person. Many of the people shesaw scuttling around were nuns, most of them familiar faces, but there were other strangers here too, wearing different tartans.
“The refugees aren’t just from the Priory,” came a familiar voice from behind. “Many of the locals fled, too. Laird Dickson’s men have gone through that town like fire through a field of wheat. We’ve run out of space inside, mostly.”
Una turned around to find Freya standing behind her, a wry smile on her face. Kyla gave a squeal of delight, flinging her arms around her friend.
“I’m so glad to see ye,” she gasped. “It’s been a long, tense ride.”
“Well, ye are safe now,” Freya assured her. She looked tired, Una noticed, with dark circles under her eyes. Her long, red hair was loose and tangled, hanging about her shoulders. “Come inside. Una, I have put ye in a room with Senga, and she’s keen to see ye.”
“Why didn’t she come out to meet us?” Una found herself asking.
Freya winced. “Ye will see. Just come on in, it’s about to rain. Men, takehimto the dungeons and lock him up safe.”
Her voice changed on that last sentence, becoming harder and angrier. It took Una a second to realize that she was talking about Struan.
Glancing over her shoulder, Una saw that Struan had been cut down from where he was tied onto his horse. A number of Grahame soldiers advanced on him, grim-faced. His expression was smooth and neutral, and he allowed himself to be dragged away without a fight. His gaze met hers, just for an instant, before she looked away.
Then he was gone, and Freya began to walk towards the Keep, gesturing for them to follow.
Inside the Keep was even more crowded and chaotic than outside. The Dining Hall appeared to have been turned into aninfirmary for the wounded and sick at the convent that couldn’t be left behind. It seemed full. Una caught a glimpse of Sister Abigail darting between beds, her expression grim and focused.
It was just a glimpse, because Freya led them on through a narrow hallway and into a small stone room.
The room was almost full of empty, narrow beds, and at the one in the corner, Senga sat.
She straightened up, brightening at the sight of her friends. Kyla gave a cry and hurried over to her, wrapping her arms around her old friend.
“Is Astrid not here?” she asked, looking a little crestfallen.
Una shook her head, settling down on a nearby bed. “She had to stay with her Keep.”
Senga gave a wry smile. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. The Abbess would have approved.”
“How was she when ye left?” Kyla asked anxiously. “Do ye think Laird Dickson and his army would have reached the convent yet?”
“Hard to say. Depends on how fast they travel, but I think not,” Senga responded. She pulled herself further up on the bed, and Una noticed that her ankle was bandaged.
“Bandits on the road,” she explained, offering a wry smile. “We had to hurry. I tripped. It’s not broken, only twisted. Enough of that, though. The Abbess had messages for ye all, which I was to give to ye myself.”
She handed over small squares of paper. Una took hers, eagerly tearing it open.
“Well, lassie,”began the letter, in the Abbess’ crisp, rounded handwriting,these may be the last words I write to you or to anyone else.”
Pay heed to me. I have chosen to stay in the convent because a captain goes down with her ship. My politicking and choiceshave put me in this position, and I don’t regret a single choice I have made.
Let me be clear. The board is set, lass, and with me gone—dead, taken prisoner, or whatever the powers that be have in store for me—it is your turn to play the game. So, play.
The key to playing a good game of chess is to act quickly. Not too quickly, but second-guessing and excessive doubt never won anybody anything. Make your choices and stick by them. I have been playing this game for a long time, lass, and it bothers me that I am not able to finish the round.
Struan Dickson is a piece I planned to use well. Do not neglect him. He is not the monster his father is. He does not believe Dickson’s lies with the intensity he once did. He is becoming disillusioned. Love can soften a person’s heart like a fire warms butter, but you must not let him cool. He is not a lost cause, lassie, he truly is not!
Keep an eye on him. Let him rebuild his relationship with his sister. Kyla is a sweet, loving girl, and I trust her to bring out the best in her brother.
You bring out the best in him, too. Struan has a part to play in all of this before it is over, I just know it. I have seen how he looks at you, lass, and on that head I will say no more. Struan Dickson is a man who needs a chance. Let us be the ones to give it to him, eh?
