Chapter 6
Communitas
“Da, no! Please! Ye cannot leave me here.”
He wasn’t listening. Laird McInnes turned his back on his daughter, shaking his head. He made to stride out of the room, but Freya rushed after him, avoiding the grasping hands of the maids Laird Grahame had hired to watch her. She grabbed her father by the shoulders, flinging her arms around him.
“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered. “I’d forgive all of it—ye lying to me for months, forcing me into the carriage to come here—if ye just take me with ye now.”
Laird McInnes did not look down at his daughter, his only child.
It was clear that they were father and daughter; they had the same red hair, the same cool blue eyes, the same pale, freckled faces and slim frames.
Part of Freya wished she could have resembled her mother.
She’d never known the woman, and it sometimes seemed that there was nothing left of her.
Having a mother was meant to be wonderful.
“This is how it must be, Freya,” the Laird said, his voice stiff and hard. “We make sacrifices for our people. I wish ye could have done this with more grace, but what’s done is done, I suppose.”
Abruptly, he pulled back, pushing her way. The maids came forward with their grasping hands, but he waved them away.
“Leave us,” he said shortly. “This place is like a fortress. She cannot escape.”
The maids exchanged glances, but reluctantly shuffled out of the room, leaving Freya and her father alone.
He took a step back, out of arm’s reach.
“Have I not been a good father to ye, Freya?” he said, voice hard.
“Have I not indulged yer every whim, and let ye have what ye wanted? When ye wished to learn archery, I let ye. When ye did not wish to learn to play the lute, I let ye stop. Ye roamed the country with all the freedom ye could wish. Anything ye wanted could be yers, just for the asking. And here I am, asking one thing of ye; to marry the man I chose for ye. One thing, and ye cannot do it. Why not?”
Freya swallowed thickly, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. “I never wanted those things, Da, I just… I just wanted ye! I wanted us to spend time together, I wanted—”
“Ye wanted, ye wanted! Nothing is ever enough for ye. See if Laird Grahame indulges ye like I did. Because this is for the good of the clan, and this marriage is happening, lass.”
“I can’t stand him, Da. He’s cruel, he’s violent, he’s old—”
“Silence! This is happening, Freya. I’m sorry, but I can’t stop it. I won’t stop it.”
She reached out to take his hand, but Laird McInnes pulled free, and stormed over to the door. He paused, one hand on the handle, and glanced over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, lass. Truly, I am.”
And he left, without a backward glance. Freya threw herself at the door, hammering on it.
“Da! Da! Please, Da!”
“So ye thought ye could escape me, lass?”
She froze, peering over her shoulder. The previously empty room was empty no longer, with a tall, gray-haired man sitting on a seat by the fireplace. He was half-swathed in shadows, unnaturally silver eyes glinting in the darkness. He leaned forward, revealing a wide smile.
“Just ye and me, then, lassie. I hope ye will last longer than my previous wives. We’ll find out, eh?”
She began to scream.
Freya jerked awake, a scream dying on her lips. Wheezing for breath, she glanced around the room.
Just a dream. Nothing more.
Although, that wasn’t true, was it? It wasn’t just a dream.
It had really happened. He really had turned his back on her and walked away, leaving her to her fate.
He hadn’t helped her then, and he wouldn’t help her now.
That was why Freya hadn’t even considered making her way back to Keep McInnes.
There was no point. Closing her eyes, she flopped back into the tangled mess of her sweaty sheets, breathing deeply to calm her pounding heart.
Judging by the grayish light flooding into the room, it was shortly before dawn, when the sky was just beginning to lighten before the sunrise. However, there were low voices and shuffling sounds drifting in from outside her room, a sign that the others were already waking up.
On cue, there was a tentative tap on her door.
“Freya?” came Kyla’s muffled voice. “Are ye awake?”
“Aye, I’m awake,” Freya responded.
“Oh, good. Can I come in?”
“Aye.”
The door creaked open and Kyla shuffled in, a pile of folded black cloth in her arms. Behind her, Freya could see the sisters filing past, talking in low voices. On their way to morning prayers, no doubt.
“Breakfast will be served soon,” Kyla explained, fidgeting with her spectacles. “And after, ye can come with me into town to drop off a few charity baskets for some struggling families. How does that sound?”
“Aye, I’d like that,” Freya said, sitting up properly and rubbing her eyes.
“There are washbasins at the end of the corridor with fresh water. It’s warm now, but it cools quickly in a morning, so I suggest ye get a move on fast. Oh, and ye can change into this.”
She laid out the black cloth on the end of the bed, revealing it to be the same sort of smock that all the other sisters wore, as well as the white smock-shirt to go underneath, and a length of rope to tie up the waist. After a moment’s hesitation, Kyla laid out a crumpled piece of white cloth.
It took Freya a moment to realize what it was.
“A wimple,” she said, surprised. “But none of ye wear those, only the full sisters.”
Kyla grimaced, shrugging. “Aye, I know, but the Abbess specifically told me to have ye wear it. She said it would be safer. What does she mean by that?”
Freya bit her lip and said nothing. Safer, of course. The wimple would cover Freya’s vibrant red hair, which was generally impossible to miss. Even so, it looked heavy and uncomfortable. Freya was not looking forward to wearing it.
She didn’t answer Kyla’s question, and Kyla didn’t press for an answer.
“Dress as quick as ye can,” she said after a while. “I’ll meet ye in the dining hall. Aye?”
“Aye,” Freya murmured, leaning over to look at the unflattering clothes laid out for her at the end of her bed.
No more silk and satin for me, I suppose.
Breakfast was a rushed affair. The room was fairly nondescript, just a wide stone hallway full of long wooden tables set length ways, and a shorter table set width ways at the top of the hall, for the Abbess and other important sisters to sit.
The sisters ate quickly, obviously keen to get on with the day’s chores. Senga wolfed down her porridge and left the table first, followed quickly by Astrid. It was clear they were surprised by Freya’s wimple, but didn’t question too deeply.
Freya was relieved. She felt ridiculous, the voluminous white cloth blinkering her peripheral vision, and digging in around her forehead and under her chin. It was itching already.
I’m only going to wear this when I go out, she decided, fidgeting.
Kyla led her outside to a small outbuilding that seemed to be a stable. Working quickly, she harnessed up a stocky carthorse to a rickety cart, climbed up into the driver’s seat, and gestured for Freya to follow.
“I’ve never ridden in a cart before,” Freya admitted, once they were a mile or two down the road. “Just carriages.”
Kyla shot her a wry smile. “Aye, we thought ye were a wee bit of a fine lady.”
She flushed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Aye, lassie. Ye are well-fed, with soft hands, and an air of confidence that few poor folks have. It’s naught to be ashamed of, though. Living a life free of trouble is a thing most of us can only dream of.”
“I feel soft,” Freya murmured. “Too soft for the world. I-I ran away without thinking of where I’d go or what I’d do. I only thought about escaping. I’m so weak, I can’t even take care of myself.”
Kyla was silent for a moment, pursing her lips. “Have ye ever heard of the Communitas principle?”
“What? No.”
“Well, it’s Latin for Community, of course.
I learned Latin to read some texts, and it comes in handy.
It’s an old principle, and in it, the writer claims that we are not meant to live alone, none of us.
We’re meant to live in family units, yes, but above the family unit is the importance of Communitas.
Our community, the people around us. It’s about more than family because we can’t choose our family.
We can choose our friends, and we can choose our community.
For example, I chose to come here. The sisters who live in the convent chose to take their vows and live this way.
We choose our community, and our lives often depend on them. ”
Freya was quiet for a moment. “What am I supposed to take from that?”
“Ye say ye cannot do anything yourself. Well, why not rely on yer community to help ye? Yer friends?”
“Ye… Ye think we’re friends?”
Kyla shot her a sidelong look, sunlight glinting off her spectacle lenses. “Aye, I do. Do ye think we’re not?”
“No, no, I just… I’ve never had many friends before.”
Kyla chuckled, taking one hand off the reins to throw her arm around Freya’s shoulders.
“Welcome to the community, lassie.”
They arrived in the main town shortly after. It was a small place, clearly market day, with the courtyard in the center of town full of stalls. Kyla deftly parked the cart off to the side, pulling a list out of her apron pocket. People nodded and smiled at them as they went by, murmuring greetings.
This is nice, Freya thought, following Kyla through the crush of people. I could get used to this. I don’t want to be a nun, of course, but it’s nice being… nobody of interest. Certainly nobody that a laird would want to marry, on account of being a nun.
She turned around in a circle, trying to take in everything—the stalls, the crowd of people, the laughter, and chatter, the smell of pies and cake and savory herbs—and then she saw him.
It was Brendan, of course, shuffling along a little way behind them, looking wary. He flushed when Freya met his gaze.
“Just a moment,” she said to Kyla, and walked off before her friend could say a word, elbowing her way through the crowd towards Brendan. He looked as though he were thinking of walking off, then changed his mind at the last minute.
“There ye are, then,” she said, grinning up at him. “Not visiting the Priory today?”
He looked as though he were trying not to smile. “Not today.”
“But I lured ye out instead.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “I’m keeping an eye on ye because the Abbess asked me to. And ye should know that, considering ye listened at the door when she asked me. Don’t flatter yerself.”
She grinned wider. “Don’t ye know I have bundles of unearned confidence? I’m excellent at flattering myself. Besides, what am I meant to think, if ye keep coming after me like this?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are ye flirting with me, woman?”
“Flirting? Aye, of course I’m flirting. Have ye just noticed? I’m not sure I was being subtle.”
Freya couldn’t quite believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.
It’s his fault, she told herself. He makes me act strangely. I only wish I knew why.
Brendan’s mouth worked as if he were trying not to laugh.
“I cannot be seen flirting with a nun. Did I not tell ye last night to stay away from me?”
“Aye, but I’m not good at doing what I’m told,” she sighed. “Besides, ye won’t get rid of me for a week at least, so why not make the best of it? Humor me. Let’s go for a drink.”
He eyed her incredulously. “A drink? Ye are dressed as a nun. The wimple is a good idea, by the way. Hides yer hair.”
She shrugged. “We both know how much wine and beer ye deliver to the Priory, so I think it’s fair to say that not many of us are abstaining. Go on, I need something to cheer me up.”
He sighed, shaking his fine. “Fine. One drink, then I return ye to Kyla. And only to keep ye out of trouble!”
She beamed. Brendan gestured for her to follow him, and led her across the courtyard.
There was something different in his manner this morning. Perhaps he’d had time to sleep on it, or was just in a better mood, or… Oh, she didn’t know. The man was a closed book, not at all like the smiling, charming men and women she’d been used to in Keep McInnes.
Back then, I was Lady Freya McInnes, and it was useful to be my friend, she thought wryly. Nobody wanted to offend me. Now… I’m nobody.
It was refreshing, though. Being nobody.
Brendan led her to a ramshackle little pub with a sagging roof and an overflowing gutter. A wooden sign hung at an angle, creaking rustily in the breeze. Under the scrawled name, there was a bad painting of a striped cat holding a foaming tankard of ale.
“The Drunken Tabby,” she read out. “This yer local pub, then?”
“Aye, it’s a decent enough place. Ned and Annie won’t balk at serving ale to a nun. In ye go.”
He held open the door, and Freya ducked past him.
Inside, the pub was dark and musty, but cleaner than she’d expected. A portly man stood behind the counter, eyes nearly popping when he saw her.
“Evening, Ned,” Brendan said. “Two ales, I think.”
“Of course, of course. Good day to ye, Sister,” the man mumbled, nodding at Freya. He bustled away behind the counter, and Brendan led her over to a table with two chairs.
“One drink,” he reminded her, voice low. “Then back to Kyla.”
She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “Ye still owe me a secret.”
“I owe ye nothing, lassie,” Brendan shot back, but there was no bite in his voice. “Look, ye seem like a nice girl, but this place isn’t for ye. Ye deserve freedom, and waiting around in a place where ye might lose it is a bad idea.”
“It seems to me,” Freya said slowly, “that ye can’t decide whether ye want to help me or avoid me.”
He sighed. “It’s not that. I… I’ve been where ye are before, Freya.
Alone. Abandoned, with nowhere to go and a dangerous man on my trail.
I wound up here, too. I would have never found my feet, and if it hadn’t been for Abbess Tenet and the sisters, I don’t know what would have become of me.
I don’t want ye to flounder like I did.”
She chewed her lip, suddenly nervous. “I like ye, Brendan. I’d like to spend more time with ye. I know I’m a wee bit too much, but… Well, this is the first real freedom I’ve ever had.”
He nodded. “I understand. Flinging yourself at the first man ye fancy isn’t a good idea, though. Even if he is helping ye.”
She flushed, pulling back. “That’s not… That’s not what’s happening. Do ye think I’m some sort of fool, who can’t be trusted to—”
He held up his hand. “Nay, Freya, I never meant to—”
The door flew open with a crash, and a trio of men stalked in. Freya’s heart sank, and she saw the color drain from Brendan’s face.
The men were Grahame soldiers, and one of them held a piece of paper with a sketch of Freya’s face on it.