Chapter 11
It was impossible for Clara to catch Reid before he crumpled to the grass. She’d tried to grab his arm, but it did her little good, and down he went regardless.
The back of his gambeson was dark with fresh blood. It was clear he had lost a considerable amount on the ride to the abbey. Her heart caught in her throat.
But how much blood?
It was difficult to tell until they could remove the gambeson and his leine. A nun rushed out, calling orders as she dashed toward them, her habit rippling about her.
“What happened to him?” she demanded.
Clara explained his injuries and what she’d done with the poultices and the teas to aid him. The older woman winced when Clara described the hit on those older injuries that he’d taken with the mace.
“These warriors.” The nun shook her head. “They’ll just keep fighting until they’ve killed themselves.”
Clara gaped at the woman’s blatant remark.
“They will.” Despite the disparaging remark, the nun’s kind gray eyes crinkled at the corners in a way that showed a lifetime of smiling and good humor. “Who is he to ye? A husband? A brother?”
A ready answer stuck on Clara’s tongue. If she told the nun Reid was her husband, she would never be accepted into Paisley Abbey.
At least not without a considerable donation she could ill afford to give.
There would be no place for her to go, save to return home to have her future argued over between her mother and Drake.
“He’s my brother.” Clara’s face burned with the lie.
It wasn’t just the act of telling a falsehood that caused Clara shame. It was how she had minimized what Reid was to her. Just this afternoon, he had slid her skirts up over her legs and had her in the way a man claimed a woman. And she had welcomed it.
Lying and debauchery were not her only sins.
She also carried the stain of murder from the men she had killed in battle.
The horror of what she had done, of what she had witnessed crept into her awareness once more, unraveling the edges of her control.
She clenched her hand to rein herself in.
It could all be processed later. Now she needed to be strong for Reid.
But there was one thing of which she was certain, she did not deserve to be in this holy place meant for good women.
The shame of it twisted in her chest and soured her stomach.
“Ye’ve a fine-looking brother.” The nun winked at her, and Clara was horrified to find her face heating in a tell-tale flush.
The nun threw her head back with a laugh and jostled Clara’s shoulder. “I may be a bride of Christ, but that doesna mean I’m blind. Dinna worry about yer lad, whoever he may be. Ye’ve cared well for him, and we’ll do the same. He’ll be fine.”
Clara nodded despite the anxiety tensing through her. It was so much harder to be objective about someone who was injured when she cared so much about them.
And she did care about Reid. Immensely so.
More than she wished to explore at the moment.
Several other women rushed out, but even as they tried to pick up Reid, he staggered to his feet and made his way into the abbey.
“Stamina too.” The older nun nudged Clara again.
“He’s my brother,” Clara hissed.
The nun laughed. “Ach, aye.” She winked. “Of course he is. I’m Sister Agnes. Go help the lad, and I’ll lead the way.” Her smile crinkled the well-worn lines on her face.
Clara put her shoulder under one of Reid’s arms, hefting him upright and slowly walking as they followed Sister Agnes through the tall entrance with crested stonework adorning the frame.
A series of shadowed corridors came next.
Eventually, Clara caught the light, herbal scents of healing: calendula, meadowsweet, sage, and so many more, familiar smells that grew stronger as they entered an open room filled with beds.
The fresh rushes underfoot were sprinkled with lavender and rosemary to deter pests, as well as foul smells.
However, nothing could fully eliminate the underlying odor of illness that hovered in the area.
Sister Agnes indicated an empty bed where Clara guided Reid. He immediately sank onto the clean mattress and lay back as his eyes closed.
“Why dinna ye remove his gambeson and leine?” The nun indicated Reid. “Since he’s yer brother.”
Clara averted her gaze lest the woman see the shame written clearly on her face.
Reid didn’t move as she took the bag from across his shoulder, the one containing the missive warning the residents of Dumbarton.
Next, she began to unfasten the ties of his gambeson.
It was not the first time she’d removed it that day.
Her fingers shook with the memory, and a new longing warmed through her.
She clenched her back teeth and tried not to think of such things.
Truly, she was too wicked even to be considered for a place in these hallowed walls.
She shifted the gambeson off his shoulders, being as gentle as she could. He ground out a short groan, and she flinched as if it were she who had been hurt rather than him. Indeed, she wished it were her. He had been through so much already.
And all in the name of saving innocent lives.
It was not the first time she considered the souls of Dumbarton, who unknowingly awaited a message of salvation. Reid would be in no condition to travel that day. Even with proper care, he would need at least two days’ rest before he could even consider leaving the bed. Most likely more.
With as much care as was possible, she drew his leine off. The fabric was wet with blood, but the wounds did not appear to be bleeding any longer.
“Is that wee Clara?” A friendly voice asked.
Clara turned to find a slender nun with dark, expressive brows and deep brown, intelligent eyes. Sister Seraphina, the kindly nun Clara had aided in Castleton. The one who had invited her to Paisley Abbey.
“I was told there was a bonny lass and an injured warrior to tend to.” She strode over to where Reid lay. “While I am pleased to see ye, I am sorry about yer friend.”
“Her brother,” Sister Agnes supplied before making her way to one of the other occupied beds.
Sister Seraphina looked to Reid’s sleeping form, then back to Clara, her sharp gaze no doubt noting the lack of familial resemblance between them.
“I hope ye’ve come to join us,” Sister Seraphina said before Clara could completely surrender to the burn of a fresh blush.
Clara did not respond. How could she when she did not deserve to be in such a place, among such noble women?
Sister Seraphina approached a table laden with various bottles and jars. Her absence of a limp implied her wounded foot had mended cleanly. She must have noticed Clara watching her gait because she smiled and said, “My wound healed perfectly, thanks to ye.”
After Sister Seraphina selected several jars and indicated a few for Clara to grab, they carried them over to Reid.
“Ye will do a lot of good here if ye stay and eventually take yer vows.” Seraphina poured clean water into basin and began to wipe the blood from Reid’s back.
He did not stir.
Clara took another linen and helped the nun. “I fear I am not the same person I was when we first met,” she admitted.
“Ye have doubts as to beginning yer aspirancy?” The question was issued without judgment or malice.
“I…” Clara swept her cloth over Reid’s back, over the swells of his powerful muscles, and was unable to stop the memory of how they’d felt under her fingertips as they lay together in the forest. “I’ve done terrible things.”
“Ye are young,” Sister Seraphina said patiently. “Many make mistakes in their youth.” She lifted a shoulder. “I did.”
Despite the nun’s compassion, Clara knew her follies were not simply a result of youth.
“I killed several men today,” she whispered. “Five.” Her voice caught, and she found she could say no more. The hand she held the linen with shook uncontrollably as the force of what she had done captured her.
Sister Seraphina’s long fingers rested on Clara’s hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “Did ye pray for their souls?”
Clara nodded, her eyes filling with hot tears.
“I suspect,” Sister Seraphina said slowly, “that had ye no’ killed them, neither of ye would be here now.”
Clara nodded again and tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
“Then I’ll pray for ye that ye might find peace.
” Sister Seraphina released Clara’s hand and resumed wiping at Reid’s back.
“Sins can be forgiven, and these are trying times.” The nun pulled the stopper from a jar and dipped her tapered fingers into a pale yellow-green salve.
“But dinna be too quick to decide yer future.” Her gaze settled on Clara.
“The life of a nun is no’ for everyone. If ye choose this path, it must be with the whole of yer heart. ”
It was an opportunity to not commit to taking vows. Why then did it sit like a stone on Clara’s chest?
“May he remain here for a few days?” Clara asked. “I have an important message to deliver in Dumbarton, to ensure the safety of the people.”
“By all means,” Sister Seraphina said. “Ye may borrow one of our horses if ye like. They’ll be fresher than the mare ye’ve been riding all day.”
Clara inclined her head with humbled gratitude. “Thank ye.”
“Why do ye need a fresh horse?” Reid mumbled.
Sister Seraphina lifted her brows and picked up the gambeson from the ground. “I’ll see this is washed and leave ye two to speak.”
Reid turned his head to regard Clara and repeated from where he lay on his stomach, “Why do ye need a fresh horse?”
She steeled herself against the onslaught of protest she knew she would receive. “I’m going to Dumbarton.”
Reid shifted on the small bed to better look at Clara. His back ached, but not like before, thanks be to God. If nothing else, he was plagued with terrible fatigue.
“I’m going to Dumbarton with yer message.” Clara folded her arms over her chest, that stubborn spirit he knew so well sparking in her otherwise gentle nature. It would be endearing if it weren’t so damn dangerous.