Chapter 2 #2
The Abbess lifted her eyebrows. “Ye expect me to believe that a woman like ye, Una, trained and tested in battle, is afraid of spiders?”
She shrugged. “We all have our fears, aye?”
“Hmm. Well, Struan is a dangerous man, to be sure, and an important prisoner. A lot of the sisters here don’t much enjoy taking their turn in bringing him his food.
But he must eat, and heaven knows he’s never tried to attack anybody since his imprisonment, or even throw a curse their way. He just sits there, silently.”
Una bit her lower lip until it stung. “I don’t want to see him. He and his family put me through so much.”
The Abbess tilted her head thoughtfully. “Did Struan hurt ye personally? I understand that ye were kept as a prisoner in Keep Dickson for many years.”
“He never hurt me himself,” Una admitted. “But he saw all the wrong his father did and did nothing.”
“And his inaction is a crime he’ll answer for. Struan Dickson has blood on his hands, to be sure. Truth be told, I can’t imagine he’ll be here for much longer.”
Una brightened. “Ye think not?”
The Abbess shook her head. “His wounds are healed, and so long as he’s here, we’re in danger from the Dickson army.
The Grahame and Kenneth clans are making plans to move him, but that’s all I can tell ye at this time.
In the meantime, please take yer turn in bringing him his food.
Ye don’t have to speak to him or even really look at him.
Just push his tray through the wee slot in the door and take the old tray back. That’s all.”
Una nodded, glancing away. Quite a few of the nuns were too old or infirm to handle the dozens of stairs, steep and slippery, which led down into the cellar where Struan was kept, so the duty fell to younger women.
I should be more diligent, Una thought miserably. Heaven knows they haven’t given me any other chores.
“I’ll take all of his meals, then,” Una whispered.
The Abbess blinked, frowning. “That’s not necessary.”
“No, I… I don’t do much else. I’ll take his food. It’ll only take me ten minutes to climb up and down there.”
“Well, if ye are sure,” the Abbess paused, narrowing her eyes. “There’s something else bothering ye, I think. Come on, lass, tell me. I cannot help ye unless ye tell me.”
Una breathed in deeply, closing her eyes.
“I feel guilty,” she managed at last.
“Guilty? How so? And for what?”
“Struan Dickson is alive because of me. I stopped him from cutting his own throat. A man like that, with so much blood on his hands… Shouldn’t I have let him die?”
The Abbess pursed her lips. “Why did ye save him?”
Una shot her a confused look. “Ye know why I saved him. Because Kyla wanted him alive.”
The Abbess nodded, and Una realized with a jolt that the woman only wanted to hear her say it.
“In that case, would ye have done anything different if ye had yer time over again?”
“Nay,” Una answered, before she could think twice. “I don’t see that I could.”
She shrugged. “Then yer guilt is a waste of time. I would advise ye to get the better of it. What’s done cannot be undone, and perhaps it’s better that Struan Dickson is alive. He was only his father’s instrument, after all.”
Una gave a sharp, mirthless laugh. “Ye make it sound as though he were innocent.”
“Not innocent, but perhaps not as guilty as we once believed.” The Abbess leaned forward, patting Una’s hand where it lay on the desk. “But ye are not expected to make these decisions, lass. After all, ye had no interaction with him when ye were in Keep Dickson, aye?”
Una hesitated, just for a beat, but of course the other woman noticed it. The Abbess’ eyes sharpened.
“What aren’t ye telling me?”
Una closed her eyes. “I did… I did feel sorry for him, once. Just once.”
There was silence, and she knew that the Abbess was waiting for her. Una opened her eyes, glancing helplessly around the room. Surely she wasn’t going to tell this story? She’d kept it a secret for so long. She never even let herself think about it in the privacy of her own head.
She caught a glimpse of her own blurry shape in the copper mirror, hanging on the wall like a great eye. It occurred to her that it was hung directly opposite the Abbess’ desk, as if it were watching her. Perhaps that was the intention.
“I was only a bairn,” Una whispered, “and I was so angry. I’d been beaten enough in Keep Dickson to learn my place, and I could not understand why my brother did not come to save me.
I know now that he could not, but at the time, I only knew grief and anger.
Anyway, I’d taken my supper—a pathetic meal of pottage and hard bread—and went outside.
It was cold, frost on the ground, but I preferred to eat outside to avoid being bullied by the other servants.
Everybody knew they could do whatever they liked to me, say whatever they liked, and not receive any punishment.
So, outside I went. There was… a boy out there.
My age or a few years older, I think. No more than thirteen, maybe?
He was curled in a ball in a corner, and I remember that he had bare feet.
Bare feet on frozen cobbles, can ye imagine it? ”
“I can,” the Abbess responded, with a tightness to her voice that spoke of other stories that wouldn’t get told any time soon. “Go on, lass.”
“He was crying,” Una continued, her voice sticking in her throat.
“I remember thinking how odd it was, a boy in such fine clothes being barefoot. There were lots of orphans in that Keep. They called us the Rats. Widows, orphans, and cripples, all essentially slaves, brought forcibly to the Keep after our lands and clans had been conquered. I suppose I thought that he was one of them. He looked up at me, and I felt… I felt sorry for him. I hadn’t felt sorry for anybody in a long time.
I kept all my pity for myself. I offered him the bread.
I remember thinking that he must be hungry.
Sometimes ye can be so hungry it hurts, and a bairn might cry. ”
The Abbess nodded, her jaw tightening. “I know that too, lassie.”
“He took it, and I remember how his face lit up. He wasn’t starving, I saw that at once. He was well-fed. I didn’t recognize him, not until a while later, when they took all us Rats out into the courtyard to see the Laird and his family going by.”
The Abbess nodded thoughtfully. “And how did ye feel when ye learned who he was?”
Una considered this. “Angry,” she said at last. “He had tricked me. He wasn’t starving. I gave my precious piece of bread to a boy who ate like a king every night. He wasn’t starving.”
“Not for food, no,” the Abbess acknowledged. “For affection, maybe?”
Una scowled. This conversation was growing unpleasant. She didn’t like to think of Struan Dickson, or his vile father, for any longer than she had to.
“Did ye know there are books in his cell?” she blurted out. The Abbess raised her eyebrows, and Una blushed and continued. “Aye, books. Somebody’s been bringing him books.”
“Aye, I know,” the Abbess responded softly. “Kyla brings them.”
Una flushed. “Oh.”
“Well, I think that ends our wee meeting. Off ye go, lass.”
Una rose, glad to finally be dismissed, but the Abbess spoke again, stopping her in her tracks.
“Ye shouldn’t feel guilty for saving his life, Una,” the Abbess said quietly, her gaze already directed onto her papers once more. “But ye are responsible for him now. Ye had better keep an eye on him, I think.”
Swallowing thickly, Una turned away, saying nothing, and practically ran out of the room.
She couldn’t have said what drove her down into the cellar after her conversation with the Abbess. It was too late for him to be getting any meals, and the soldiers on guard threw her odd looks when she passed them by.
As Una descended the steep, slippery steps, she was surprised to hear voices in the distance.
Whoever had gone ahead of her had brought a candle of their own, adding to the small, stubby candle that Struan kept burning.
The Abbess had said that it was cruel to make anybody sit in pure darkness, and so he was allowed one small candle.
It was kept outside the cellar so that he could not try to use it to start a fire or something terrible like that.
She slipped silently through the darkness towards the twin bubbles of yellowish light. Quite abruptly, she recognized the voices. One was Struan’s, of course, and the other… The other was Kyla.
“I wish ye would talk to me, Struan. If only…” Kyla was saying, a tone of pleading in her voice.
Abruptly, Struan interrupted her.
“Talk to ye? What have I to say? All these years, Kyla, I thought ye were dead. It drove me wild, not knowing. I had no idea what had happened. I thought the worst, ye know. I imagined our father torturing ye and killing ye, burying ye in some shallow grave or even burning ye on a pyre, leaving no grave for me to visit. I thought ye were gone, but in a way, ye already were, weren’t ye? ”
There was an edge of fury in his voice, Una inched closer, staying against the wall, cloaked in darkness. She could see them now—or rather, she could see Kyla, standing in front of the cell door, wringing her hands together.
“Ye really resent me so much?” she whispered.
There was a long silence before Struan responded.
“Ye hid away like a coward,” he whispered. “Ye never thought of me, did ye?”
“That’s not true. I thought of ye every day.”
“I don’t believe ye.”
“Struan—”
“I don’t believe ye!”
His voice, suddenly raised, echoed off the walls. Una saw Kyla flinch. There was a tense moment of silence, then abruptly she turned away, snatching up her candle. The flame shook, and she covered it with a hand. She hurried away down the hallway, biting back sobs.
She didn’t seem to see Una pressed against the wall.
Una stood there for a moment, heart thumping. So Kyla was coming down here outside of Struan’s mealtimes. Privately, Una thought that the Abbess should have banned it.
And I was right. Now Kyla is upset, and Struan thinks… he thinks he can treat his sister that way. The woman who saved him.
Rage welled up inside her. Before she knew what she was doing, Una had stormed forward, into the circle of light thrown outside of the cell.
Struan stood there, half turned away from the door. He had a hand raised to his face, half-shading his brow. He flinched when Una appeared and glanced up at her with wide, surprised eyes.
“Ye,” he burst out.
Una lifted her chin. “Aye. Me. I heard how ye spoke to Kyla. Ye had better be kind to yer sister, man, or else I’ll make ye bleed.”
He chuckled incredulously. “What a threat! Make me bleed how, lassie?”
She ignored him. “It’s only thanks to yer sister that ye are alive at all, fool.”
He leaned forward against the door of the cell, fingers wrapping around the bars.
“Lass, there is no greater shame for a Dickson than to be spared in battle,” he whispered, his voice harsh. “I pray daily for my death. If Kyla cared for me at all, she’d give it to me. She’s no sister of mine.”
Una’s vision blurred briefly from anger. She surged forward, not even realizing that she had her knife in her hands until she saw the candlelight glint on the blade. Quick as lightning, she thrust her arms through the bars and pushed the flat of the blade against the underside of Struan’s chin.
The cold metal sat flat against his flesh, but he didn’t flinch or even blink.
“Ye want death, man?” she whispered. “Perhaps I should give it to ye. The moment ye become a threat, there are a hundred blades dying to slaughter ye.”
He did not blink. In the candlelight, odd shadows jumped over his face, circling his eyes and cutting sharply across the lines of his cheekbones and jaw. He met her gaze and did not look away, not even a flicker.
“Do it, then,” he whispered. “Go ahead. I know ye want to.”
Una clenched her jaw. Her hand, to her horror, was shaking.
He deserves it. He deserves to die. Everybody wants him dead, and it would be for the best for Kyla if she could be cut loose from him.
I’d be doing them all a favor.
The Abbess appeared in Una’s head, her expression blank and noncommittal. Kyla appeared beside her, in floods of tears.
I can’t.
She whisked away the knife, her hand shaking worse than ever, and backed away.
Struan did not flinch. There was no gasp of relief, and he didn’t lift his hand to where the blade had pressed against his skin.
Una noticed a tiny, thin line of red, no longer than the top joint of her thumb, against his throat where the blade’s edge had nicked.
“When ye become a threat to us again,” Una whispered, “I will be the one to kill ye.”
Struan lazily lifted a hand to his throat, running a fingertip across the cut. He lifted his finger, inspecting the smear of blood on the tip.
“I shall hold ye to that,” he responded, his voice even and firm.
Una spun on her heel and almost ran away from the cell. She did not look back, but she felt Struan Dickson’s eyes on her all the way until she was out of sight.