Una’s vision blurred briefly from anger. She surged forward, not even realizing that she had her knife in her hands until she saw the candlelight glint on the blade. Quick as lightning, she thrust her arms through the bars and pushed the flat of the blade against the underside of Struan’s chin.
The cold metal sat flat against his flesh, but he didn’t flinch or even blink.
“Ye want death, man?” she whispered. “Perhaps I should give it to ye. The moment ye become a threat, there are a hundred blades dying to slaughter ye.”
He did not blink. In the candlelight, odd shadows jumped over his face, circling his eyes and cutting sharply across the lines of his cheekbones and jaw. He met her gaze and did not look away, not even a flicker.
“Do it, then,” he whispered. “Go ahead. I know ye want to.”
Una clenched her jaw. Her hand, to her horror, was shaking.
He deserves it. He deserves to die. Everybody wants him dead, and it would be for the best for Kyla if she could be cut loose from him.
I’d be doing them all a favor.
The Abbess appeared in Una’s head, her expression blank and noncommittal. Kyla appeared beside her, in floods of tears.
I can’t.
She whisked away the knife, her hand shaking worse than ever, and backed away. Struan did not flinch. There was no gasp of relief, and he didn’t lift his hand to where the blade had pressed against his skin. Una noticed a tiny, thin line of red, no longer than the top joint of her thumb, against his throat where the blade’s edge had nicked.
“When ye become a threat to us again,” Una whispered, “I will be the one to kill ye.”
Struan lazily lifted a hand to his throat, running a fingertip across the cut. He lifted his finger, inspecting the smear of blood on the tip.
“I shall hold ye to that,” he responded, his voice even and firm.
Una spun on her heel and almost ran away from the cell. She did not look back, but she felt Struan Dickson’s eyes on her all the way until she was out of sight.
Chapter 3
I’m Dead Already
There was a fly drowning in the bowl of gruel. Una stared down at the struggling creature for a second or two. Sighing, she picked up the spoon and gingerly lifted it out. The gruel was meant to be porridge, in point of fact, but this particular bowl seemed to be full of excess water and tiny, burned oats. The fly, miraculously, recovered after a moment or two. Stretching out its soggy wings, it staggered along the table, leaving a tiny trail of porridge behind it.
Una cleared her throat. “Can I have another bowl of porridge, please?”
She had been served from one of the huge cauldrons, lugged daily out of the kitchen to rest in the corner of the Great Hall for the nuns and other guests to queue in front of. Sometimes, there was fruit or even cold meat for breakfast, but lately, with winter coming on, supplies had begun to run thin. Thinner than usual at this time of the year, according to what the other nuns whispered in the corners. It was porridge if they were lucky, gruel if they were not.
She had been served by Senga, whose grubby, graying apron strings were wrapped twice around her waist. Was she losing weight? She certainly looked more hollow than before.
Senga glanced up, blinking at her, and frowned.
“What for? It’s not as if ye are going to eat it. That tray’s forhimdownstairs.”
Una bit her lip. “Aye, but… well, there was a fly in it.”
Senga sighed irritably. “I haven’t got time for this. As it is, I’m scraping the bottom of this pot, and there’s no more. If somebody has to have porridge with a fly in it, I’d rather it be him.”
Well, that was that, then. Una nodded and moved away from the head of the queue, letting the nun behind her shuffle up to get her food.
Part of her had hoped that the Abbess wouldn’t take Una up on her offer to take Struan all of his meals, but really she should have known better.
Una strode out of the hall, clutching the tray tightly to her chest. Aside from the bowl of fly-defiled porridge, he would receive a jug of water, which had to last him all day—there’d be small ale or maybe beer with supper—and nothing else.
Everybody knew, now, that if they saw someone striding grimly along the halls in the direction of the cellar entrance, holding a tray, that that person was going to take it tohim. People averted their eyes as Una went by, some even pressing themselves against the wall.Thatwas ridiculous, since even the narrowest hall in the convent was wide enough for four people to walk along abreast. She almost felt like hanging her own head and avoiding their eyes.
Janson had warned her about that, though.
