Chapter 18 Gods And Chess #2
She spread out her hands. “Come on, lads. Ye spent all this time bellowing for me to come out, and yet, you don’t know what to do now that I’m here?”
The man flushed and gestured to the soldiers. A pair of them came forward, tentatively taking her elbows, and hustled her forward.
“Laird Dickson wishes to see ye,” the man explained, jerking his chin towards a small hillock about a hundred feet away. “He wants to speak with ye.”
The Abbess nodded. “As I expected.”
The soldiers began to escort her away, and she heard the man speak to his soldiers.
“Take out the battering ram again.”
Panic welled up inside her, and the Abbess struggled in the soldier’s grip.
“Wait!” she cried. “What are ye doing? Ye promised that if I came out, ye would let the other nuns live.”
The man’s face was crimson, and he avoided her eye.
“Forgive me, Abbess,” he whispered. “Those were my orders.”
The Abbess was dragged unceremoniously away, kicking and screaming.
She managed to compose herself before she was brought before Laird Dickson.
The man had set up a small table on top of the hill, with a chair set beside it, draped with fur.
Trees clustered around the little clearing, and there were early summer flowers nodding in the long grass.
It almost looked like a picnic spot, except for the soldiers ringing the clearing, backs turned to the forest, keeping their eyes on Laird Dickson and the Abbess.
The man himself sat sprawled in the chair, staring out as if looking at the view. He didn’t glance up as she approached.
The Abbess was deposited in front of him, and the soldiers released her and stepped back.
At last, Laird Dickson tore his eyes away from the scene and glanced up at her. He lifted his eyebrows.
“We meet at last, Abbess,” he remarked. “Ye are older than I thought ye would be.”
She smiled. “And ye are smaller. I thought a man who held the Highlands in such an iron grip would be taller and broader.”
He chuckled. “That might have hurt the feelings of a lesser man, but not mine. I learned long ago that size means very little.”
“A wise lesson.”
“Another lesson I learned was that lying is a fine tool,” he continued, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair.
“I knew ye would come out if I threatened yer beloved nuns. Ye must have known, deep down, that I could not risk letting them live. And yet I imagine ye could not risk condemning them to death by yer own cowardice.”
“I knew ye were a liar,” she shot back. “We know each other well, I think. Odd, for a couple who have not met.”
“Ye would have made a fine clan leader if ye were a man,” he observed.
The Abbess smiled. “I think I might already be a clan leader, of sorts.”
He gave a brittle smile. “Very pretty words. But tell me, how does it feel to see yer ‘clan’, as ye call it, broken down? Destroyed?”
“I am not sure ye are winning the battle, Laird Dickson.”
“We will retreat and regroup,” he responded tightly. “There will always be another battle.”
“Perhaps so, but this one is not going yer way, is it?”
He ignored her question and leaned forward in his seat. “I ask ye again. How does it feel to know that ye have lost? No matter how this battle ends, ye will die before it is over, as will all of yer nuns. Nobody in that convent will survive, woman. I have decreed it. Yer legacy will be destroyed.”
The Abbess took a moment to reply, scanning the trees and undergrowth around them. The air was entirely still, with not even a hint of breeze to shake the grass.
“The funny thing is,” she murmured thoughtfully, “I would never have had a legacy if it were not for ye, Laird Dickson. Yer malice and cruelty, and the cruelty of those under ye, are what has brought these people together today. I am not the one who brought them together. No, man, it was ye who did that.”
He scowled. “Ye do not know what ye are talking about. Ye truly think ye can play God? I’ll show ye how it’s done, Abbess. All of yer fine ideas about freedom and education and how women should live will die with ye here today. Yer life is over, and so are yer teachings.”
“Ach, man, it’s not so easy. People die easier than ideas, I can promise ye that,” she chuckled, shaking her head.
Her smile seemed to infuriate him. He scrambled to his feet, coming almost nose-to-nose with her.
“I will restore the Highlands to their previous glory,” Laird Dickson seethed, “even if I have to soak the hills in blood.”
She met his eye steadfastly. “We’re old, ye and I. Not as young as we once were. Ye can deny it all ye like, man, but that’s the truth, plain and simple. The fact is that we don’t have much say in the future… not anymore. No, the Highlands are in the hands of the next generation.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, ye think so?”
“I do,” she agreed. “And let me tell ye, the next generation… is a very good chess player.”
Laird Dickson blinked, momentarily confused. Then his eyes widened with understanding.
It was a split second too late. Struan stepped out of the forest, knife in hand, and neatly slit the throat of a guard. The man crumbled, dying without a sound, and Struan reached for the next man.