Chapter 14 A Nun No More
A Nun No More
Struan Dickson eyed the chessboard for a long moment. A lot rested on his next move.
He had a tendency to move too rashly. In his youth, he had played games with his father, but Laird Dickson hated to lose. Struan very quickly learned not to win a game, or else he would soon regret it. He got used to looking for ways to lose.
Not so with the Abbess, though. Her mind was sharp and keen; there was very little she did not miss. She liked to win—after all, who didn’t?—but she would not kick up a fuss if she lost.
Not that he had ever properly beaten her.
Don’t be defeatist, he reminded himself. Perhaps this will be the time.
He moved his bishop forward a few squares. It was a cleverly chosen position, which would allow him to checkmate in three moves. If he could just…
The Abbess’ queen sailed in from nowhere, neatly taking his bishop. Struan deflated.
“That was a good move,” the Abbess said merrily, leaning back and lacing her fingers over her stomach. “Ye get better every time we play.”
“Not good enough, apparently,” Struan muttered.
“Stay calm, lad. Nothing is worse for ye than acting out of anger and temper. Take a breath. We’re playing chess, not running a race. Although,” she added, grinning thoughtfully, “ye certainly ought to remember what rides on the outcome of this game.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, aye? Our wee wager?”
“Indeed.”
He moved his pawn, and the Abbess, seemingly at random, moved her knight.
The game progressed rapidly. Knight took pawn, pawn took rook, pawn took bishop, and so on. Their chess game devolved into a merry little game of slaughter. Struan took the Abbess’ pieces, too, but even so, she seemed to have the upper hand.
Until, quite suddenly, he stared down at the board and realized that her queen was exposed.
What a mistake to make!
Struan glanced up at the Abbess, searching her face for clues.
Was it a trap? Or was it simply an accident?
Even the Abbess lost chess matches. She lost to Una, who rarely played chess and seemed to have won simply because she was so bad at chess she had no tactic and so played at random and managed to corner the Abbess’ king at the very end.
The Abbess had not been pleased at that.
The Abbess stared back blandly, her face revealing nothing.
Holding his breath, Struan moved his remaining bishop forward and took the queen.
Two moves later, he was checkmated.
“It was a trap,” Struan muttered, knocking over his king to convey surrender.
“Aye, and a good one,” the Abbess chuckled. “Ye saw the trap, ye know. Ye saw it and went forward anyway. Never second-guess yerself, lad.”
“I’ll remember that. Ye win the wager, then. Ye get to deliver the final blow on Laird Dickson.”
The Abbess’ face tightened at the mention of their wager.
“Ach, ye are a sweet lad, but that was only a bit of fun. I’ll not even be part of the battle.”
“I’m not sure I want to be the one to kill him,” Struan confessed. “After all he’s done, he is my father.”
The Abbess nodded. “I understand, lad. Well, what do ye want to do now? We can put these away, or perhaps play another short game?”
Before Struan could answer, running footsteps echoed outside, and after a moment, Thomas burst in.
“They’re here,” he gasped.
The Abbess rose to her feet. “Do ye mean Laird Dickson’s army, or do ye mean Laird Grahame’s?” she asked tightly.
Thomas blinked, faintly confused.
“Laird Grahame’s, Abbess. They’ve arrived. Senga is with them.”
Senga felt as though she was coming home. The town around the convent still bore marks from the previous battle, however. People kept wary looks on their faces and walked in groups. Houses had heavy doors and barred windows. In places, scorched ground marked where a croft had once stood.
The convent rose above it all, surrounded by the forest. She could almost smell the familiar, fragrant scent of the herb garden. If she closed her eyes, even now, Senga could still see all the rows of vegetables and fruit lined up in the earth. She’d known that garden by heart once. She still did.
The army stayed on the edge of the convent grounds and began setting up camp.
The convent and its kitchen could not feed an army, and anyway, men weren’t really welcome inside.
It was a nunnery, after all. However, Senga, Brendan, and Noah, along with a few of their captains, trotted up towards the building itself.
Freya had made the difficult decision to stay behind, to guard Keep Grahame against whatever might come its way while its Laird was gone. She had said her goodbyes, and Senga had twisted around in her saddle to get one last look at her friend’s face, in case they never met again.
She wished she had had time to say goodbye to Astrid, too.
After, she told herself firmly. There will be an after. There must be.
As they approached the heavy gray building, a familiar face came hurrying out. Senga smiled at the sight of Kyla, small, bespectacled Kyla, with her husband, Thomas, following behind.
“I’m so glad to see ye!” Kyla chirped. “Come in, come in. We’ve prepared some good food. It’s not a feast—not what ye will have been used to at Keep Grahame, I wager—but it’s good and hot.”
“Good and hot sounds fine,” Senga laughed, slipping down from her saddle.
Glancing past Kyla, she saw Struan and Una standing in the doorway. As always, they kept themselves just a little aloof from the rest. She supposed that had something to do with their respective, terrible upbringings. It was probably best to avoid thinking of that.
A handful of the nuns came hurrying out to meet Senga, faces alight.
“Never thought I’d see ye back here, lassie,” Sister Rosemary laughed, wrapping Senga in an herb-scented hug. Sister Abigail darted forward to hug her next, smiling faintly.
“I hear that ye are in charge of the Grahame infirmary,” Sister Abigail said, sounding pleased. “I taught ye well, I suppose.”
“Ye taught me excellently, sister,” Senga laughed.
Last of all, the Abbess appeared at the top of the stone steps, her hands tucked in her sleeves. Well, the woman had always liked to make an entrance. She descended the stairs somewhat grandly, smiling around at them.
“Ye arrived in perfect time,” she announced to nobody in particular. “I just finished a chess game with Struan here.”
Struan liked chess? This surprised Senga. She glanced at Noah, who lifted his eyebrows in answering confusion.
When their eyes met, heat spread through her chest, and Senga wanted to grin like a fool.
She could still feel the cool slickness of the ribbon wound around her wrist, binding them together in a handfasting ceremony.
She could smell the herbs Freya had picked and could feel the warmth of Noah’s hand in hers.
Stop it, she chastised herself. Not in a nunnery! It’s not as though ye will be allowed to share a room with him.
“Ye are welcome, all of ye,” the Abbess continued. “Tell me, what news do ye bring?”
“Only news of our armies,” Brendan said, stepping forward.
“We’ve brought what men we can spare. Laird and Lady Kenneth are coming, too, but the roads are bad from the rain, and they are delayed.
We’ll have to pray that what we have is enough.
If Laird Dickson knows that his plan is discovered, I don’t know what he’ll do.
He might attack earlier, before we can fortify, or perhaps he’ll change his plan. ”
“He won’t change his plan,” Struan spoke up quietly. “Not now. It’ll make him look weak, and I don’t believe he’ll risk it. He’s committed to his course now. He is coming.”
There was a shiver of uneasy silence after he had spoken. People glanced at each other worriedly, and smiles faded from their faces. A sense of unease lodged itself in Senga’s stomach.
He is only speaking the truth, she reminded herself miserably. The truth is not pleasant.
“We march at dawn,” Brendan said, breaking the silence. “Until then, we will rest and discuss our plans for the fight. It could be the last battle.”
A murmur went through the assembled people at that. Brendan’s voice was light and cheerful, with a line of determination in it. It seemed to give the people heart.
Struan, Una, and Thomas went over to Brendan and began to talk about the battle plans. Sister Rosemary and Sister Abigail disappeared back into the convent, no doubt to make preparations for the food. Senga found that she was hungry.
The Abbess’ gaze fell on her, and the older woman smiled.
“I am glad to see you, Senga. Very glad indeed.”
“We’re all happy to see her,” Kyla chipped in, beaming up at Senga. “We prepared your old room for you. You will be staying with us, won’t you, and not with the army?”
“I would like my old room,” Senga confessed, smiling.
Suddenly, she was aware of Noah behind her. He stood still, saying nothing. The Abbess’ gaze gradually slid over to him. Her eyes were thoughtful and a little curious and slid slowly back to Senga.
Senga felt color rise to her cheeks, as though the Abbess could see everything she was thinking and everything she had done.
Well, perhaps she could.
“I am glad ye are back, Senga,” the Abbess murmured after a moment. “And ye, sir, ye are Captain Noah of Keep Grahame, is that right?”
Noah bowed a little uncertainly. “Aye, that’s right.”
“Well, ye are welcome, too.”
Brendan called Noah, and he was obliged to move away. He met Senga’s eyes first, and there was a warmth there that made her smile. When she turned back, she found the Abbess hiding a smile.
“Well, Senga, the last time ye were here, ye told me that ye wanted to take orders,” the Abbess remarked, chuckling. “Ye said that ye were a nun at heart. I told ye to wait. I think perhaps I was right to do so.”
“I… I don’t know what ye mean,” Senga stammered.
The Abbess gave a secret smile. “I think ye are a nun at heart no more, lass. Now, come inside. Ye must eat, and ye must sleep, and we must talk.”