Chapter 19 Ye Should Have Killed Me
Ye Should Have Killed Me
“Faster, Bluebell, faster!” Senga gasped, leaning forward over the horse’s neck. The horse seemed to fly over the earth, snorting, steam rising from her flanks.
She was racing alongside the convent, the battle still raging to her left.
Noah had begged her to wait until he could get some soldiers together, but Senga was determined to see what was going on.
If Laird Dickson’s men were truly trying to break into the convent, time could be of the essence.
The great front doors of the convent were just up ahead, and she could hear a lot of shouting.
A scream echoed, and it struck her that she could not hear the boom-boom of a battering ram.
Above the pounding of her own blood in her ears, a single thought took shape.
Am I too late?
Senga and Bluebell skidded to a halt in the great courtyard in front of the convent. Her jaw slackened.
There were Dickson soldiers in front of the convent, but they were… they were retreating?
As she watched, a pair of nuns appeared at one of the larger windows, holding a steaming vat between them.
No, not a pair of nuns. One woman was a nun, and the other, of course, was Kyla.
They painstakingly tipped it, and a torrent of boiling water came surging down onto a group of soldiers who were trying to pick up the battering ram again.
The battering ram, she noticed, was studded with arrows. Sister Rosemary appeared in another window, red-faced with fury, and aimed an arrow out of the window.
“The Abbess said that vengeance belonged to God, but He’s not here and neither is she, so try this one on for size, ye wee bastards!” she screamed, and loosed the arrow.
It hit one man directly in the meat of his buttock. Hardly a killing blow, but certainly a painful one. He gave a squawk, jumping several feet into the air.
Sister Rosemary hastily nocked another arrow, breathing heavily, but paused when she saw Senga.
“Laird Dickson demanded the Abbess in exchange for our freedom,” she called. “Took her up onto that hill and went back on his word. Hurry, I imagine he’ll kill her if he can.”
“Right,” Senga managed, swallowing hard.
Sister Rosemary scowled. “What are ye looking at me like that for? I wasn’t always a nun.”
There was no arguing with that, so Senga hurried away.
She left Bluebell at the bottom of the hill and crawled upwards as quietly as she could manage. Voices drifted to her ears, and she flinched when she heard Struan’s voice. A few more feet, and Senga was able to crouch behind a rock and watch what was going on.
The Abbess stood in the middle of the clearing, very still and calm, hands tucked neatly into her sleeves. Laird Dickson stood behind her, eyes bulging out of his head, and watched his guards fight Struan and Una.
Senga guessed that Struan and Una had run on ahead, hurrying to save the Abbess. Reinforcements were coming, but how quickly would they arrive? Noah would come with his soldiers, but they would attack the men in front of the convent and not come directly up here.
“I thought I taught ye better, lad,” Laird Dickson snapped, his gaze fixing on his son. “Fighting alongside a woman… disgraceful.”
“Don’t even speak of her,” Struan snarled, shoving away a Dickson soldier.
The man crumpled to the ground, dead. They were cutting through Laird Dickson’s guards at a quick rate, something that the laird clearly noticed himself. He shifted, swallowing uncomfortably.
“Don’t listen to him,” Una gasped, sharply bringing down her blade to behead a man. “He’s just trying to distract ye. Weren’t ye the one who taught me not to let feelings get the best of me?”
Struan gave a quick, tight-lipped smile. He took on two men at once, neatly cutting the throat of one man and thrusting his blade through the breastbone of the other.
No more left, Senga thought. There’s nothing between Struan and his father now.
She rose slowly to her feet, showing herself to the Abbess. The woman caught her eye and gave a smile and a nod. The warmth of her approval settled in Senga’s heart.
“Ye must surrender, Father,” Struan managed, pointing his sword towards him. “I don’t want to see ye dead, no matter what ye have done. I can save ye. I can! Ye don’t need to die, ye don’t need to be humiliated. But it’s over; you must see that now. This must end.”
Laird Dickson bared his teeth in a macabre smile. “Have ye learned so little from me? For shame, lad. For shame. Ye think ye can take my place? Ye don’t think that yer sister and that wee bastard in her womb won’t fight ye to be laird?”
Struan shook his head. “Ye cannot come between me and Kyla. Ye tried before, and it did not work, and it’ll not work now. Give up, please. Let’s make this easy.”
A sense of unease coiled in Senga’s gut. She did not imagine for one moment that Laird Dickson would give up, so the only question that remained was how he would choose to lash out.
Struan crept closer and closer, his eyes trained on his father. Una, however, hung back, every line of her body tense. She met Senga’s gaze briefly but did not hold it, preferring instead to fix her eyes on Laird Dickson.
Senga could hear shouts from below and guessed that Noah and his soldiers must have arrived, driving off the rest of the Dicksons from the convent.
With any luck, Kyla would be safe inside.
Brendan, Thomas, and Kai would still be embroiled in the battle, and she hoped with all of her heart that they were still alive.
“Ye taught me to wield a sword,” Struan stated at last, leveling his sword at Laird Dickson. “Do ye think ye can take it from me now?”
Laird Dickson stared at the sword, then up at his son. In that moment, Senga saw a tired old man, realizing that his life had crumbled around him and that he had nothing, nothing left.
“Nay,” he said at last, his voice cracking. “I don’t. But ye have not learned from me. Ye should have killed me, son.”
His hand shot up to his belt, and a small knife glittered. Senga screamed a wordless warning, but it was too late. Perhaps it had always been too late.
He lunged towards the Abbess.
Her eyes widened, but she could not duck aside quickly enough.
He grabbed her by the throat and stabbed her twice in the side.
It was over in an eyeblink.
Senga lifted shaking hands towards her mouth. She was faintly aware of Una screaming. Struan was shouting something. Laird Dickson stepped back, his knife dripping blood, and the Abbess sank to the ground, eyes wide, hands clamped to her side. Blood seeped over her fingers.
Laird Dickson kept moving, with the desperate energy of a man doomed. It reminded Senga of when a chicken had its head cut off, and the dead creature twitched and flailed as if it were still alive.
He was running towards Una, knife raised, while Una stared numbly at the Abbess’ still form.
Struan’s blade shot forward, impaling the Laird through the chest.
For a moment, the world stood still. Struan stared at his father, and Laird Dickson stared back at his son, the two of them connected by the long blade of the sword.
Struan let go first, releasing the hilt and staggering backwards, his breath hitching in his throat. Laird Dickson clutched at the blade in his chest, gaping faintly. He collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut, and Struan stood as if turned to stone, staring down at him.
Senga moved first. Her legs were stiff, as if she were knee-deep in mud and couldn’t move fast enough.
She raced towards the Abbess, heart pounding in her ears.
She could hear nothing over the rush of her own blood, even though she was faintly aware of Una screaming and a faint shouting coming from further down the hill.
Noah was close, she thought.
The battle is over, or just about over. But it’s too late. It’s too late!
Senga skidded to her knees beside the Abbess, who had slumped onto her back. She had her eyes closed, and for one sickening moment, Senga thought that it was already too late.
“Abbess?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
The Abbess eased open her eyes and peered up at Senga. She gave a faint, tired smile.
“I knew he would try to take one of us,” the Abbess whispered. “I was afraid it would be Una or Struan. I stayed close to him so that it would be me.”
“Ye should not have done that,” Senga whispered, crying.
“What of the convent? Are the others safe? They didn’t breach the doors, did they?”
Senga shook her head. “They poured boiling water onto the Dickson soldiers. I think Sister Rosemary might have shot some of them. She was very angry.”
The Abbess gave a chuckle of amused laughter. “Aye, I thought she might do something like that. I knew the convent would be safe with her. Maybe she’ll be the Abbess after I’m gone.”
“Dinnae say that!” Senga cried. “Don’t ye dare say it!”
“It’s over, lass,” the Abbess murmured, turning her eyes upwards. “Oh, and look at that. The clouds are pulling back. A scrap of blue sky, at last.”
Swallowing hard, Senga tilted her head back, peering up at the sky. After days of constant rain and mist, she’d become used to the constant roll of dull skies, sometimes white, sometimes gray with rain.
The Abbess was right, though. The clouds were beginning to clear. Not too much. This was still the Highlands, after all. But there was indeed a little space between the clouds where the blue sky shone prettily down, clear and promising.
Senga closed her eyes, letting the weak sunlight warm her face.
“Senga?” came Una’s tentative voice. “Senga, is the Abbess… is she…”
She opened her eyes and glanced down at the Abbess. The woman had closed her eyes, her skin suddenly very pale, almost translucent.
Una gave a hiccuping sob. “A… A healer. She needs a healer. Quickly, Senga!”
Senga cursed under her breath and pulled back, seizing a piece of her skirt and tearing off a long strip.
“I am a healer,” she snapped. “Run to the convent, one of ye. Get bandages and something to clot blood. Quickly, Una. Run!”
Una took off at a run. Out of the corner of her eye, Senga saw Noah racing towards her, his face pale. She would greet him in a moment, and tell him that their fight was over, but not yet.
Not yet.
The Abbess gave a low, throaty chuckle, a smile spreading across her face.
“Checkmate,” she whispered.