Page 1 of Bride of the Mad Laird
CHAPTERONE
Scotland 1310, the Isle of Iona
Lyra MacInnes eyed the evening repast laid before her on the sturdy oak table in the refectory at the Iona Priory. She sighed rather too loudly. “Fish again.”
Sister Morag, the elderly nun seated opposite tilted her head disapprovingly.
“We must be thankful fer what the Good Lord provides, Lyra.”
Both Lyra and Sister Morag dipped their heads, signing the Cross, before picking up their spoons.
Lyra hesitated, her appetite having fled at the sight of the watery stew, but the Sister spooned in a large mouthful.
Giving her meal a desultory glance Lyra downed her spoon. “I’m nae hungry this evening,” she said, although adding hastily, “but I am indeed grateful.”
Glancing up, her heart skipped a beat as she took in the sight of the old nun’s face. It was crumpled into an expression of pain, her mouth hung open, her eyes rolling in her head. She clutched her belly and doubled over, making a truly awful, gurgling sound.
Lyra leapt to her feet. By now the nun’s mouth was ringed with froth. It was clear that something very bad was happening.
“What is wrong, Morag? Are ye in pain?” Looking around helplessly for someone to come to Morag’s aid, Lyra screamed and the other nuns looked up in horror at the unfolding scene.
Suddenly, Morag let out a terrible groan, closed her eyes and sank slowly forward so that her head was on the table next to her platter, while her arms sagged by her side. Lyra grabbed one of the Sister’s icy-cold hands to prevent her from slipping to the floor.
Fortunately, at that moment Mother Una darted across the refectory, followed by the two nuns in charge of the infirmary.
“Quickly,” Lyra cried, holding Morag’s slumped figure to prevent her toppling onto the stone floor. “She’s taken ill.”
The Prioress rushed to Lyra’s side and snatched her dish away while the other two nuns took charge of Sister Morag.
After only a brief moment one of the nuns, Sister Fiona, looked up, her jaw tight, her shoulders hunched. “Dinnae eat anything. We must make haste. She appears tae have been poisoned.”
Mother Una turned an anguished face to Lyra. “Lyra, I fear yer enemy has found ye. Ye must away from here with all speed.” She grabbed Lyra’s hand. “Come. Leave the sisters tae care fer Morag. Purging is the only cure and it is nay something fit fer a fine-born lady such as yerself tae witness. Follow me now tae gather yer things and prepare wi’ all haste tae travel from this place.”
Without another word Lyra picked up the ends of her robe and dashed through the arched doorway following Mother Una along the stone walkway and up the stairs to her small sleeping space.
Her mind raced, blaming herself for what had befallen Sister Morag. The possibility that, even here, her enemy would find her, was never far from her mind and it seemed that, tonight, he had discovered her at last. Gentle Sister Morag had paid the price for protecting her.
That knowledge pierced her heart. The necessity for secrecy had been so great she had even lied to her dearest friend, Davina, who thankfully no longer lived in the priory. She had pretended to be a novice, unhappy under the stern guidance of the Prioress just as Davina had been. She had hidden the truth that she was an oblate of Saint Augustine secreted in the Priory since childhood in an effort to protect her.
As continuing to lie to her friend would have been too difficult, after Davina had escaped, she had sent her a letter to convince her she had left the Priory and was returning to her family. As long as Davina believed Lyra was safe, she would not put herself at risk by attempting to aid her escape.
As she was lost in thought Mother Una went to speak briefly to a man that worked in the gardens of the convent and then she was back by her side. “I must assume the poison was meant fer ye. We can be thankful it was nae intended tae claim yer life, or Sister Morag would have left this mortal realm by now.” She crossed herself with shaky hands.
She met Lyra’s gaze with troubled eyes. “Ye cannae waste another minute. ‘Tis time ye left us, now it is nay longer safe here.”
“Where am I tae go? What am I tae dae?” Lyra’s voice was husky with unshed tears.
“Gather yer belongings without delay, including the things that were brought here with ye fer safekeeping. The box wi’ yer maither’s brooch and necklace. Now that they ken where ye bide, neither yerself nor the others here under the Priory roof are safe from harm.” She busied herself, rolling a change of clothing into a small bundle “Ye ken the plan, they will expect ye on Mull.”
Lyra grabbed the small box containing her few treasures. Her heart was thumping and her mouth was dry. She licked her lips. She’d been with the nuns since she was little more than a bairn and all she knew was the nunnery. The thought of braving the unknown, outside world was almost as terrifying as being taken by her enemies.
“How am I tae find me way? I dinnae remember the Isle of Mull or the mainland. What if the lad I’m tae meet wi’ isnae there?”
Mother Una grew impatient. “’Tis nae time tae argue. If ye’re dead ye’ll nae be of use tae anyone.”
Lyra’s eyes misted and she bit back the threatening tears.
The Prioress’s voice softened and she reached a kindly hand to squeeze Lyra’s arm.
