Chapter 4
Mother Superior
Freya couldn’t hold back a flutter of nerves as she followed Kyla down the narrow corridors.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked, more than once. What she really meant, of course, was, Will I have to leave?
Kyla always glanced over her shoulder, smiling quizzically.
“No, of course not.”
They reached a heavy wooden door that seemed identical to all the other wooden doors in the corridor, except that this one had a few stools and chairs placed outside, ostensibly as a waiting area. Kyla flashed a smile at Freya, then knocked on the door.
“Enter,” came a deep, female voice from inside.
Kyla gestured for Freya to step inside, which she did.
Freya had expected Kyla to come in with her, so she flinched when the door closed firmly, leaving her alone in the room.
It was a large room, with no more decoration than the other rooms she’d seen so far, with one exception; there were several framed pictures of biblical characters on the walls.
Some were sketches, little more than a collection of lines, while others were ornate painted masterpieces.
There were numerous bookshelves against the walls, heavy with books and manuscripts.
A large desk, laden with papers, dominated the room. Behind it sat a nun.
No, not a nun. The Abbess.
Freya had encountered powerful people before.
They always liked you to understand just how powerful and busy they were.
Whenever she entered her father’s study at home, he would spend several minutes scribbling something while she waited in silence, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, while he decided when he was ready to speak to her.
The Abbess, it seemed, did not need to resort to such tactics.
“Ah, here ye are,” she said, her voice gravelly and deeper than Freya had expected. “Sit down, please.”
Freya sat. She eyed the Abbess carefully. The woman appeared to be in her late fifties, head covered by a heavy wimple. She had sharp gray eyes that appeared to miss no detail, and under the voluminous smock she was almost certainly tall and stocky.
The Abbess leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. “Ye are our newest arrival, then. Yer name is Freya.” she paused, tilting her head to one side and eyeing Freya thoughtfully. “It is an unusual name.”
Tingles flew down Freya’s spine.
She doesn’t know. She can’t know.
“Aye, Lady,” she managed at last.
“Mother,” the Abbess corrected. “I am the Mother Superior here. Ye can call me Mother, if ye like, or Abbess.”
Freya flushed. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Do ye intend to take orders, Freya?”
She shook her head. “Nay, I don’t.”
“Then, what brings ye here?”
She drew in a breath. “I was being forced to marry a man I did not want. I ran away, and somebody directed me here.”
“I see. Well, we offer protection to women and girls in yer situation, Freya. However, we are limited with what we can do. I can let ye stay for two days, to gather yourself and decide what ye will do next. If ye are willing to work for yer keep, ye can stay for seven days. I cannot offer ye more charity than that, much as I would like to.”
Freya felt a surge of relief. One week was not a long time, but it was enough.
“I’m more than happy to work for my keep, Abbess.”
“Good,” the Abbess rose to her feet, coming around the desk to face Freya, who hastily jumped to her feet. “What can ye do? Cooking, laundry, sewing?”
Freya’s cheeks burned. “No, I’m afraid not. I-I can’t do any of those things.”
The Abbess’s eyebrows flickered, only for a moment.
“We are starting from scratch, then. I am glad ye did not lie about it, though. I cannot abide liars.”
Was this a pointed comment? Freya flinched, not sure how to respond. Fortunately, it seemed that no response was needed. The Abbess eyed her for another long minute, then gave an approving nod, as if she had seen something she liked.
“Can ye read, lassie?”
Freya blinked. “Of course.”
The Abbess frowned. “Of course? Ye say it like it’s obvious.”
“Well, I…”
“Many women do not have the opportunity to read and write. And for most, it’s not because they have no inclination.
It’s because it’s forbidden for them, or they never have the chance.
I’ve encountered many women who would love to read and write and express themselves with words they’ve never learned.
And then I’ve met others that take it for granted. Ye seem like the latter.”
Freya flushed, turning away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that. I suppose I do take it for granted. I can’t imagine not being able to read and write.”
“Well, for those of us who do have the privilege, it’s best to make the most of it. We have a good library here, and ye are encouraged to use it, if ye like.”
“Thank ye, Abbess.”
“Step over here, Freya,” she said, leading the way to the largest and most detailed portrait on the wall. “Do ye know who this is?”
She shook her head. “A saint?”
“A Biblical character. Deborah, after whom our order is named. What do ye know of Deborah?”
Freya racked her brains. Had this Deborah ever been mentioned in a sermon at the McInnes Chapel? If so, she couldn’t recall it. She couldn’t recall any women ever being mentioned in the sermons, beyond the righteous Mary and the sinful Eve.
“I… I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” the Abbess said again. “We can only learn by admitting our own ignorance. Deborah was a remarkable woman. A prophetess, a politician. She was a judge of Israel for many years, and also served as a military leader.”
Freya’s eyes nearly popped. “Truly? A woman?”
The Abbess shot her a wry smile. “Shocking, I know. Deborah sat beneath a palm tree, and men and women alike came to her for judgements and wisdom. A great military general came to her for support, and begged her to accompany him into battle. She did so. He was afraid, ye see. She was not. Men who believe that women have no place in politics or battle or education clearly do not read their Bibles. Deborah was a fine woman, indeed. I do my best to run a convent that she would approve of. That includes embracing women who, well, shall we say, do not toe the line, eh?”
Freya blinked up at the woman. “I don’t understand.”
The Abbess clapped her on the shoulder. It was a surprisingly strong blow.
“Never mind, lass. We’re glad to have ye staying here. In the meantime, go on down to the kitchen and help get supper prepared. Ask for Astrid.”
And just like that, the conversation was over. The Abbess rounded the desk and settled herself into her seat again, taking up a pen and a piece of paper, and preparing to write.
Freya cleared her throat. “S-Seven days?”
The Abbess glanced up at her. “Seven days, lassie. Use the time wisely. And now, off with ye.”
The kitchens were absolute chaos. People ran to and fro, calling to each other, bearing trays of various foods.
Huge vats of vegetables simmered, and countless cauldrons and vats bubbled.
A skewer of chickens turned and turned over the fire in the massive hearth, turned by a small dog in a wooden wheel.
A girl of about twelve watched the fire and the dog, feeding the dog occasional scraps to keep him motivated.
There were wooden pegs hanging on the wall, with caps and aprons. Freya snatched up an apron, tying it securely around her waist.
“I’m looking for Astrid!” Freya called, several times, until sometimes finally pointed her in the direction of a petite fair-haired woman stirring a huge pot of what looked like gravy. Freya hurried over, grateful to finally have something to do.
“My name is—”
“Freya, aye,” the woman responded. “I’m Astrid, as I think ye already know. I’ve heard of ye. Senga and Kyla are my friends, and they mentioned ye. Did ye meet with the Abbess?”
“Aye. She sent me down here. Is it always this busy?”
Astrid threw her a wry smile. “It’s generally worse.
We have all the sisters to feed, as well as all the other women who live here.
Maids, postulants, everybody in the infirmary, the healers, the women here to study, and so on.
That’s why this place is so expensive—all those mouths to feed.
Incidentally, how long did the Abbess say ye could stay? ”
“Seven days.”
Astrid lifted her eyebrows at that. “That is a while. Longer than most. Here, grab a spoon with a long handle and help me stir. It’s sticking at the bottom.”
Freya obeyed, snatching a long-handled spoon off a counter and getting to work.
She eyed Astrid out of the corner of her eye.
The girl was about eighteen or nineteen, small and thin and almost child-like.
Her hair was fair, but nowhere near as white as Senga’s.
She had large, gray eyes fringed with golden lashes, and a pretty, dainty face.
The sort of woman that men didn’t like to see becoming a nun. They’d call it a waste.
“How long are ye allowed to stay?” Freya asked, already sweating from the steamy heat in the kitchens.
Astrid’s hair was scraped back in a knot and covered in a handkerchief, and Freya wished she’d thought to do that.
“As long as I like, I suppose,” Astrid answered. “I’ve been here since I was a babe. I don’t remember much beyond this place.”
“Are ye going to take orders?”
“I don’t think so. Are ye?”
For some reason, the question turned back onto Freya gave her something of a start.
“I… No, of course not.”
“I heard ye were engaged.”
Freya sighed. “News travels fast, eh?”
She shrugged. “New things are always exciting. New people, new knowledge, all of it. Who have ye met, besides me, Senga, and Kyla? And the Abbess, of course.”
“I met Sister Rosemary. Briefly. And Brendan, the man who brings the supplies.”
Astrid’s delicate mouth turned into a smile.
“Oh, aye, I know Brendan. He’s very kind.
Kinder than ye would think, for a soldier.
I know he isn’t one anymore, but I don’t suppose that sort of thing ever leaves ye, eh?
He brings flowers for me and the sisters, sometimes.
He’s here most days, actually. Between ye and me, I always had a liking for him. ”
Freya flinched. She had no right, of course, to feel any twinge of jealousy. She barely knew Brendan, or Astrid, or anyone here. And yet, she couldn’t help her heart sinking.
Why would Brendan look twice at her, a freckled little redhead with an angry clan laird on her trail, when he could have the attention of a girl who looked like Astrid?
She cleared her throat, and concentrated on stirring. Her wrist was already aching, and the gravy was only just starting to simmer.
Have I ever actually worked hard in my life?
The depressing thought was cut off by Astrid nudging her and nodding towards the door.
“Speak of the devil. Although I suppose I shouldn’t speak of any devil, considering where we are. He’s here.”
Freya glanced over in the direction Astrid was nodding, and froze.
He was there. Brendan. The doorway was too narrow and too short for him, so he had to duck down and turn himself sideways to fit through. He was too large for the kitchen, taking up more space than he should. He twisted his cap in his hands, and glanced around.
To her horror, Freya’s heart began pounding fast.
Stop it, she told herself. It’s just a wee crush. He’s handsome, and he was kind to ye, and that’s it.
Although at a nunnery, I might have thought I’d be able to get away from men for a wee bit.
She cleared her throat, glancing at Astrid. “Should… Should I go and see what he wants?”
“Aye, that’s a good idea. He doesn’t usually come this far into the Priory. And he’s already made his deliveries today. Something must be wrong.”
Drying her sweaty palms on the apron, Freya drew in a breath and headed towards Brendan.
He only noticed her when she was nearly upon him. His eyes, when they landed on her, made her shiver.
She wished she could have a little more composure.
“Hello, again,” he said, voice low.
“Hello. What do ye want? Not to be rude, it’s just that… Well,” she gestured to the kitchen. “We’re busy.”
He nodded. “I know, but it’s important. I need to see the Abbess. Now.”