Becca St.John (13 page)

They weren’t going to help him and he knew, deep inside, if he didn’t find his mother soon, he might not find her at all.

Padraig couldn’t still be asleep. He’d slept for days.

Ignoring the adults who ignored him, Deian turned on his heels and ran for the keep, bumping into the old woman who had walked ahead, apologizing with a short bow before setting off again.

He raced across the bridge, through the gate, up the stairway into the keep, determined despite his aching legs. He burst into the room to find Padraig awake, barely. Slumped against the wall of the fire nook, his head bent so low his chin rested on his chest. The Reah was there too, sprawled in a great wooden chair.

“Ah, so here’s the lad now,” Angus Reah barked.

Padraig raised his head. “So he is,” and motioned for Deian to come closer. “So, Eban…” he bit out the name, as if Deian might forget who he was supposed to be. “I hear you’ve been beyond the gates.”

Deian moved closer, wary. He’d not done anything wrong. “Lady Alissa wanted to see the healers.”

“You seemed most anxious to see them yourself,” The Reah said. “Thought you might explode when I said there were three of them.”

Padraig narrowed his eyes, looked at the other man, but Deian didn’t care. He’d not done anything wrong. Lady Alissa had taken him. She could do that, couldn’t she?

Not that it helped.

He lowered his head, as tears threatened. Not that he would cry, but he wanted his mama to be there and she wasn’t. Just another healer. “No, sir, no, it wasna’ that. I just didna’ want to stand while you and Lady Reah fought.”

“Hoa!” The big man laughed. Even Padraig, sick as he was, smiled.

“Is that the way of it?” Padraig asked.

Angus’ smile belied his grumble. “Her mouth’s more vicious than my dirk.”

“I know a woman like that.” Padraig winked at Deian.

Angus looked from one to the other, his eyes dark, keen on finding something. Deian stepped back.

Padraig slumped against the wall. “Not that I’ll live to spar with her again.”

“You may stink, but you’re not goin’ to die,” The Reah told him. “Didna’ just tell ya’ the Healers are coming to you?”

“All three?” Padraig questioned.

“No, just the two.”

Deian hadn’t realized The Reah had a dirk in his hand, until he started cleaning his fingernails. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask. What ever happened to Seonaid MacKay? The lass who dressed like a man.”

“What of her?” Padraig questioned.

“Heard you were sweet on her. Thought you might be with her and—” he gestured toward Deian, “—her boy.”

“What makes you think he’s Seonaid’s lad?”

“So you don’t deny being sweet on her.”

“Don’t be daft,” Padraig barked. “And what are you to Lady Alissa?”

The Reah sat up straight, pointed the dirk at Padraig, as he made his point. “You’re to leave her alone. She’s in my care, under my roof, God save me, and it’s my responsibility to ensure her safety.”

“Aye. I see,” Padraig returned, not at all frightened to have a dirk pointed at him.

“You’ll not take advantage of her. You’re lucky she’s caring for you at all,” The Reah pushed.

“And sweet as can be, she is,” Padraig said, straight-faced.

The Reah growled. “Don’t let that fool ya’. She can turn as quick as an asp.”

“No doubt. But you know me better than to warn me off, you big oaf.”

“She’s under my care.” The Reah sat back, returning to the nail cleaning.

“She’s past an age to marry.”

The Reah snorted. “No one will have her. Leastways, not after they’ve spent half a day in her presence.”

“How long have you known her?” Padraig asked.

“Long enough.”

“Grew up together, did ya’?”

“Aye, though she’s a fair bit younger. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Of course not,” Padraig responded, as the door opened and three women walked in, though not the one Deian watched for.

vvvvvv

The rain abated long enough for Seonaid to see Deian, face upturned, looking to the woman who held his hand. He didn’t like to hold hands.

Or he hadn’t. Seemed as though he did now. And the woman looked to him, neither impatient nor bored. Adoring, him her, and her him.

Seonaid stumbled, hunched over, hidden within her cloak. She remained bowed, not wanting him to notice her, hurt when he didn’t. Still, she kept moving, so no one would suspect she was with the healers.

Her son ran to them, passed her in his urgency.

Was Padraig so ill?

Cowl pulled well over her head, shadowing, she risked a glance behind her, to see the healers and this woman who stood, her hand on Deian’s shoulder, touching him, comforting.

Her cloak, fine velvet, no sign of wear, fingers laden with jeweled rings, gems studded the brooch that fixed her cape closed. A lady, the sort to have resources enough to foster a boy. If she would. If the man in her life needed a page, a foster son.

The lady bent low, spoke to Deian. He nodded, broke off, bumping into Seonaid as he ran toward the keep. Bending at the waist in contrition, a little gentleman, never looking up into her face. Never sensing his own mother standing there. She willed him to notice, even as she hid behind the shadow of her hood. And he was off again, racing to Padraig.

Padraig. Was he alive, dead, sick with fever?

She failed to notice the healers pass or the lady with them, didn’t hear their conversation. She backtracked, found an alley, slipped in, needing the brick for support. Everything moved too fast. She thought she was prepared to let go of Deian, so he could have a better future. And to let go of Padraig, so he could find a woman for his own.

Now, seeing the possibilities near broke her.

And they’d spoken of Padraig. This woman with Deian, the fine lady was Padraig’s nursemaid. She’d heard that much. A proper lady caring for a fit and virile man.

If this woman wasn’t married…
no
.

She must stop. Padraig was not hers to covet. She’d let him go. Had no right to fret about a women he might find attractive.

But she did mind, did fret. She wanted his adoration, she wanted his love.

Wants and wishes…if they were horses, beggars would ride.

Oh, Lord, she needed sustenance for a soul torn to shreds. There were two people she loved most in the world and she must let them both go. And where was she to head? They’d found a place for comfort. A place for Padraig to heal. A new home for Deian.

What about her? Where was she to go?

The Healers were no more. They’d all been sent asunder.

Lost, so lost, Seonaid stepped out of the alley, blindly looking about, as if answers stood in the rain-drenched village. An old couple made their way past, more slowly than the others. A young man jostled them in his haste. The woman’s basket tipped, spilling a cloth-wrapped loaf. Seonaid lunged forward, caught the still-warm, heavy bread.

“Oh, dearie, thank you. That’s for the priest. He’s a guest with him, you know.”

“The traveling friar?” Of course, that had been decided. Father Kenneth would stay in the vicarage.

“Aye.”

A simple response answering all of Seonaid’s questions. “Where’s the kirk?” she asked, impatience prodding her to move quicker than the couple could.

“Once you cross the bridge and go through the gate, you can’t miss it,” The old man answered. “The keep and the kirk are both grand enough and high enough you can’t miss them.”

They looked to her, eyes smiling, and she stuffed her impatience down. “Do you need help getting there?”

Together they plodded through streets made slimy with rain. The elders carrying food to the priest and his guest. Seonaid determined to do something she’d not done in years.

It was time for confession.

vvvvvv

The Healers pushed and prodded and poured herbs into his wound, and then thought to speak, when his wits were past comprehending.

“What?” he hissed past the pain.

“Don’t fret now,” one of the healers said, stacking masticated herbs on his wound before she wrapped it with cloth. “We can speak of it later.”

“Drink this,” the other healer ordered, putting a cup to his lips, but he turned away, certain it would make him sleep. He didn’t want to sleep.

“She’s with you?” he rasped, beyond the effort of full words. Lady Alissa distracted Deian over by the window, as he refused to leave. Padraig didn’t want either of them to hear this conversation.

The smaller healer nodded. “The woman who helped free us?”

“Aye.” He nodded.

“We were lost. She found us, got us this far. Angelica insisted she stay with us, here, for one last look at the lad.”

He shifted his gaze to the other healer, the one he recognized as the frightened one. The one who had screamed.

The one responsible for his wound. “Angelica?” he asked her.

She looked to the other before she nodded.

“I’m in your debt.”

Again, she looked to the other healer, who raised her brows and nodded toward the draught in her hand.

“Oh, yes.” He guessed her fear had her forgetting her task. “If I’m in your debt, then drink,” she admonished.

Not yet.
“Give a man a moment, I’m hurtin’, need to catch my breath.”

What he really needed was to catch his thoughts. “Don’t tell anyone she traveled with me and the lad. Especially not the lad. Not yet.”

Angelica shook her head. The other healer frowned, considered, before she agreed as well.

Padraig explained about Deian. “If he knows she’s here, and she leaves, it will break his heart all over.”

“Aye,” the other woman agreed, as she focused on his wound. “She’s seen him and all, though he doesn’t know it.”

He gripped her hand, hard, so she couldn’t move though she tried.

“Jasmine!” Angelica gasped, stepping away.

Padraig ignored her, focused on the one he held, this Jasmine. “If she’s already seen the lad, she will try to leave. You must stop her. Make certain she doesna’ leave.”

Unlike Angelica, Jasmine was not intimidated, merely patted his hand. “She’ll not depart until she’s spoken with us. She’ll want to know how you fair.”

Angelica watched, cautious, as if, even in this state, he could hurt her. Nothing he could do about her fear, not now, not with the blood racing through his veins. Seonaid was here, had seen Deian, didn’t make herself known to him.

Because she would leave again. Soon.

He tugged Jasmine down, to whisper to her alone. She listened, nodded, left his side to speak to the guard who stood by the door.

He collapsed back onto the pallet, turned his gaze to Angelica. “I helped to free you, you know.” He gentled his tone, though he resented the need. He’d proven himself to her, risked his life, Seonaid’s life, for her. “Don’t look like I’ll hurt you,” he grumbled. As if he could, in this state. “I’ll drink your brew now, just promise you’ll keep the woman here.”

Wary, but determined, Angelica brought the cup back to his lips. Jasmine had returned, stayed her hand.

“You say you’re in our debt.”

He nodded, his eyes closing from the pain.

“When you’re mended, will you take us to a safe place? Where they won’t try to burn us, or ruin us, or lock us away for helping them?”

“You want my protection?” he whispered.

They hesitated long enough, he opened his eyes to see why. Pathetic he was, with this souring wound, did they think he’d die?

But they’d been conferring in soft whispers between themselves, looking over their shoulders at the others in the room. Finally, Jasmine leaned over him. “The woman said you’d guard us. Take us wherever we want.”

He arched his head back. Oh, aye, he’d guard them, but just where was it they wanted to go? It didn’t matter, not now, not without Seonaid, whom he didn’t trust to stay long enough for him to be up and about.

“Aye, I’ll take you.”

They nodded, curt, crisp nods of business, then went about pouring a foul brew down his throat. He might survive the injury, but he wasn’t at all certain he’d survive the draughts everyone poured into him.

CHAPTER 14  ~  CONFESSION

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Seonaid murmured into the dark grate, cocooned behind heavy drapes of the confessional. If only the whole of a confession could roll off her tongue, a memorized thing, like prayers rather than this onerous reaching deep to dredge muck and then find a way of describing it.  No ease in that.

How did she ask for forgiveness? She had borne a bastard son. But he was no sin, not in her eyes. She’d not offer him up for sacrifice. The violent act of begetting him…aye, that was a wickedness, but she was not at fault for that. She would never confess to it.

“Go on,” Father Kenneth prompted.

“I killed two men,” she blurted, forgetting the man from earlier in the journey. “I mean three.” She slumped back. “No, wait!” Sitting straight again. “There was the guard, the one who watched over Jasmine. I believe I killed him as well.”

She’d done what needed doing to protect herself, her son, the women.

The friar’s harsh intake of breath hinted to his interpretation. “Are you penitent?”

Of course not. He knew that, would have heard it in her voice. Pride rather than guilt. A different sin. “No, Father. They would have killed me, done even worse, had I not slain them.”

“I see.”

He should. He’d be dead right now if she’d not killed.

Not so when she killed her only friend.

Deidre.

No amount of confessing could free her from that sin. But she would have to confess it. Someday, before she died.

Unnerved by the silence, Seonaid ordered her thoughts. Why here, now, did she choose to unburden her soul? Her relationship with God was just that, hers. She’d never bothered much with the kirk or his minions. She prayed, opened her heart to listen, but not within a kirk. But God’s whispers could be elusive when she needed him to shout.