Chapter 15
Venom
Freya half expected the door to be locked.
It was the same side door she’d slipped out of the previous night, although of course it felt like a lifetime ago.
It was warm and sunny today, and a few of the nuns were out in the gardens.
Sister Rosemary was among them, and had straightened up and delivered a steely glare to Freya as she moved past.
Freya hadn’t had the courage to meet the nun’s eye.
Once inside, she’d expected to be stopped at any moment, either hustled out or dragged off to the Abbess’ office, no doubt to receive a dressing-down.
The halls were surprisingly empty, but she hadn’t seen too many people in the gardens.
There was an eerie sort of silence in the convent, and Freya couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong.
She trotted along to her room, the silence following her all the way.
She barely saw another soul. The people she did pass by were mostly nuns, clearly in a hurry, some carrying linens and boxes and other supplies, barely able to throw a faint nod and smile Freya’s way.
She reached her room without anyone speaking to her.
Perhaps she could steal a short nap before going to the Abbess and explaining herself. Maybe there’d even been some food—she hadn’t eaten since the porridge she’d prepared for herself and Brendan.
She wished she hadn’t thought of him, as her chest ached every time he appeared in her mind.
I know he’s not a coward, and yet he won’t go back. I understand why he wouldn’t tell me who he was, but this was never what I expected. Laird Grahame’s son?
If I’d gone ahead and married his father, he’d have been my stepson.
That was an unsettling thought. Leaving her door open, Freya crossed to her bed, intending to change clothes quickly and then…
“I thought it was ye I saw, scurrying along the halls as if ye were a guilty wee mouse.”
Freya straightened, swallowing back an unreasonable burst of anger.
“Hello there, Senga. Ye crept up on me.”
She turned to see her friend standing in the doorway, arms tightly folded, and lips firmly pursed. Senga wasn’t alone. Astrid stood on one side, and Kyla on another.
“I waited for ye for hours, Freya,” Kyla whispered. “I know ye said to go back after a few hours, but I was so sure that ye would be back. I thought something bad had happened, and I didn’t know what to do… I went to Senga and told her everything. I’m sorry, Freya.”
Freya bit back a sigh. “I’m not angry at ye, Kyla. I wish ye hadn’t done it, though. As ye can see, I’m back safe and sound. I was late because Brendan was hurt. Badly hurt. He’d been attacked some days ago, and the wound was festering. I had to see to him.”
“That was brave of ye,” Kyla said, venturing a small smile. Senga gave her a look, and the smile dropped from Kyla’s face like a stone.
“The Abbess doesn’t know about yer absence,” Senga said, “although others do, and I imagine it’ll get back to her before too long.”
“I’m not a prisoner here,” Freya snapped. “The Abbess told me I could leave whenever I chose.”
Senga narrowed her eyes. “Ye have no clue what ye have done, do ye? What ye have brought upon us?”
“Senga,” Astrid said, voice quiet. “Don’t.”
“No, why should I hold back? She needs to know!”
A sense of unease uncoiled in Freya’s gut. She glanced between the three of them, swallowing hard.
“What? What do I need to know?”
Some of Senga’s anger seemed to dissipate. Suddenly, she looked bone-tired.
“I’m sure ye noticed that there was hardly anyone about,” she said at last, rubbing her eye with one knuckle.
“That the convent’s quiet. The reason for that—as well as why yer absence hasn’t been noticed yet—is because the town is swarming with soldiers again.
They got drunk and caused trouble. People were hurt, even a few were murdered.
Our infirmary is full, and more keep coming. The soldiers are looking for ye.”
Freya felt faint, and sank down onto the edge of her bed. “I had no idea.”
Astrid spoke up. “There’s a bounty on yer head.
Laird Grahame wants ye back. Aside from the soldiers, there were mercenaries and bounty-hunters.
They came here, of course, but the Abbess turned them away.
She told them, quite truthfully, that ye were not here—and ye weren’t, this morning—but they didn’t believe her.
They aren’t permitted to break in and search without the Abbess’ permission, but that can’t last for too long. ”
Freya’s heart sank deeper and deeper.
What have I done?
I should never have come here. Should never have put them in so much danger.
Freya opened her mouth, an apology ready to come tumbling out. Before she could speak, however, Senga spoke.
“I think we all know what made you dash off without thinking twice,” she sniffed. “Although perhaps if you’d thought for a moment or two, you’d have realized what a terrible idea it was.”
The hairs on the back of Freya’s neck prickled.
“Senga,” Kyla murmured reproachfully. “Stop it.”
“Why should I? She doesn’t think before she speaks. She’s gone blundering after poor Brendan ever since she got here, even though he made it as plain as he could that he didn’t want her. I hate to say it, Freya, but you’ve embarrassed yerself quite a bit, and brought danger to us all.”
Freya rose to her feet, facing Senga.
“Oh, I’ve embarrassed myself, have I? Me?”
“Senga, stop. And Freya, ye aren’t helping,” Kyla said desperately, adjusting her spectacles. “Astrid, do something.”
Astrid only blinked at her.
Freya was not listening to anyone. She took a step forward, coming almost nose to nose with Senga.
“I think,” she said, her voice low and angry, “that ye are in no position to lecture me about what is embarrassing or not. I know all about ye, Senga.”
Color jumped into Senga’s pale cheeks. Clenching her jaw, she glanced at her companions.
“I’ve got no idea what ye are talking about.” she said stoutly, although her eyes were jumping here and there, palpably nervous. “Ye are talking through yer hat.”
“Am I? The Abbess told me that yer secrets were yer own business, and I shouldn’t pry. But not everybody here is quite so principled. I’m clever, and I can guess well enough. I know why ye have been here for so long, yet refuse to become a nun, Senga. Ye are waiting.”
Senga flinched, as if Freya had actually aimed a blow at her.
Freya couldn’t stop. It was as if somebody else had control over her words, choosing what she would say, and calculating which would hurt most.
“Ye are waiting for a man, Senga. What, did he tell ye he loved ye, and that ye should wait? And ye just… just believed him? Ye cannot blame me for fighting for what I want, when ye are waiting and doing nothing. Brendan is alive. He’s real.
He cares. Do ye really think he’ll come for ye, after all this time?
Because I don’t, and neither does anyone else. ”
Senga cast a bewildered look at Kyla and Astrid. Kyla dropped her gaze, but Astrid’s expression remained unreadable.
“Ye don’t understand,” she said, her voice small.
“He’s different. We have a bond. We—” she broke off abruptly, shaking her head as if dazed.
“I don’t have to explain myself to ye, or anyone else.
Besides, my waiting hasn’t brought danger to the convent the way yer shenanigans have. If ye would just—”
“I’ll not hear another word of advice from a woman who’s spent her life waiting for a ghost. It’s pathetic.”
The words were out before Freya could stop them. She could have bitten off her tongue, would have bitten off her tongue if it would have undone her terrible words.
But of course, that was not possible. She swallowed thickly, anger and panic shimmering inside her.
There was a sick kind of exultation at seeing how hurt Senga was.
She’d seen that spiteful joy on her father’s face, when he told her that she was useless, stupid, ugly, and should have been a boy, should never have been born.
He’d never hit her, not once, but words could cut deeper than the lash from a whip.
Tears glimmered in Senga’s eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, then turned away.
“I’ve had enough of ye,” she said, almost hoarse. “I thought ye were my friend, Freya. But ye have no friends, do ye? Ye are too selfish for them.”
That was another insult Laird McInnes had thrown at his daughter, day after day, year after year. Selfish. Ye are selfish. A waste of breath.
It was easy to believe a thing when people kept saying it with such conviction.
Kyla stepped forward, her round face determined.
“That’s enough, Freya,” she said, as firmly as she could manage. “More than enough. Ye won’t speak to Senga that way, do ye hear me? Apologize right now, or else—”
“Or else what?” Freya snarled. The words were bubbling up again, as if she could destroy herself and everybody around her, as if she were spewing fire.
No, not fire. Venom.
Kyla drew herself to her full height. “Or else ye can leave. That’s right, I said it. Ye can pack up yer things and go. Our convent offers shelter to everybody, but not unconditionally. Ye must show that ye deserve our charity. Ye must be grateful.”
Freya gave a sharp laugh. “Grateful? Grateful for what? For scrubbing floors, and eating the plainest food in the world? For sleeping on a hard bed in a drafty cell, and being lectured by nuns and stupid wee lassies who couldn’t possibly fathom what the real world is like?”
“And ye do know what it’s like, do ye?” Astrid spoke up, her tone neutral. “Here I was thinking that ye had lived a privileged life in a Keep, with a laird as a father. We weren’t always at this convent.”
Freya gave a bitter laugh, rounding on Astrid.
“Who are ye to tell me what’s real and what’s not? Haven’t ye been here since ye were a babe? Ye were abandoned here, Astrid. Ye act all timid and calm because ye are too afraid to be anything. Have ye ever wondered who ye truly are, or how ye came to be here? No, I imagine not.”