“Well, if ye are sure,” the Abbess paused, narrowing her eyes. “There’s something else bothering ye, I think. Come on, lass, tell me. I cannot help ye unless ye tell me.”
Una breathed in deeply, closing her eyes.
“I feel guilty,” she managed at last.
“Guilty? How so? And for what?”
“Struan Dickson is alive because of me. I stopped him from cutting his own throat. A man like that, with so much blood on his hands… Shouldn’t I have let him die?”
The Abbess pursed her lips. “Why did ye save him?”
Una shot her a confused look. “Ye know why I saved him. Because Kyla wanted him alive.”
The Abbess nodded, and Una realized with a jolt that the woman only wanted to hearhersay it.
“In that case, would ye have done anything different if ye had yer time over again?”
“Nay,” Una answered, before she could think twice. “I don’t see that I could.”
She shrugged. “Then yer guilt is a waste of time. I would advise ye to get the better of it. What’s done cannot be undone, and perhaps it’s better that Struan Dickson is alive. He was only his father’s instrument, after all.”
Una gave a sharp, mirthless laugh. “Ye make it sound as though he were innocent.”
“Not innocent, but perhaps not as guilty as we once believed.” The Abbess leaned forward, patting Una’s hand where it lay on the desk. “But ye are not expected to make these decisions, lass. After all, ye had no interaction with him when ye were in Keep Dickson, aye?”
Una hesitated, just for a beat, but of course the other woman noticed it. The Abbess’ eyes sharpened.
“What aren’t ye telling me?”
Una closed her eyes. “I did… I did feel sorry for him, once. Just once.”
There was silence, and she knew that the Abbess was waiting for her. Una opened her eyes, glancing helplessly around the room. Surely she wasn’t going to tell this story? She’d kept it asecret for so long. She never even let herself think about it in the privacy of her own head.
She caught a glimpse of her own blurry shape in the copper mirror, hanging on the wall like a great eye. It occurred to her that it was hung directly opposite the Abbess’ desk, as if it were watching her. Perhaps that was the intention.
“I was only a bairn,” Una whispered, “and I was so angry. I’d been beaten enough in Keep Dickson to learn my place, and I could not understand why my brother did not come to save me. I know now that he could not, but at the time, I only knew grief and anger. Anyway, I’d taken my supper—a pathetic meal of pottage and hard bread—and went outside. It was cold, frost on the ground, but I preferred to eat outside to avoid being bullied by the other servants. Everybody knew they could do whatever they liked to me, say whatever they liked, and not receive any punishment. So, outside I went. There was… a boy out there. My age or a few years older, I think. No more than thirteen, maybe? He was curled in a ball in a corner, and I remember that he had bare feet. Bare feet on frozen cobbles, can ye imagine it?”
“I can,” the Abbess responded, with a tightness to her voice that spoke of other stories that wouldn’t get told any time soon. “Go on, lass.”
“He was crying,” Una continued, her voice sticking in her throat. “I remember thinking how odd it was, a boy in such fine clothes beingbarefoot. There were lots of orphans in that Keep. They called us the Rats. Widows, orphans, and cripples, all essentially slaves, brought forcibly to the Keep after our lands and clans had been conquered. I suppose I thought that he was one of them. He looked up at me, and I felt… I felt sorry for him. I hadn’t felt sorry for anybody in a long time. I kept all my pity for myself. I offered him the bread. I remember thinking that he must be hungry. Sometimes ye can be so hungry it hurts, and a bairn might cry.”
The Abbess nodded, her jaw tightening. “I know that too, lassie.”
“He took it, and I remember how his face lit up. He wasn’t starving, I saw that at once. He was well-fed. I didn’t recognize him, not until a while later, when they took all us Rats out into the courtyard to see the Laird and his family going by.”
The Abbess nodded thoughtfully. “And how did ye feel when ye learned who he was?”
Una considered this. “Angry,” she said at last. “He had tricked me. He wasn’t starving. I gave my precious piece of bread to a boy who ate like a king every night. Hewasn’tstarving.”
“Not for food, no,” the Abbess acknowledged. “For affection, maybe?”
Una scowled. This conversation was growing unpleasant. She didn’t like to think of Struan Dickson, or his vile father, for any longer than she had to.
“Did ye know there are books in his cell?” she blurted out. The Abbess raised her eyebrows, and Una blushed and continued. “Aye, books. Somebody’s been bringing him books.”
“Aye, I know,” the Abbess responded softly. “Kyla brings them.”
Una flushed. “Oh.”
