Page 31 of A Plaid Case of Loving Ye
“That’shorrible,” murmured Sister Mary Novella. “What happened?”
But the Mother Superior waved her to silence. “Patience, sister. Let them have some time, what with the deep, meaningful glances. We’ll find out soon enough.”
Sister Mary Novella blurted, “Who?”
“Ramsay and Nicola,” huffed her superior. “Can ye no’ tell they’re having A Moment? Besides, we’ll find out soon enough. Within the next page, two at tops.”
“Who’s Paige?” blinked Sister Mary Verbena in confusion.
Ramsay finally dragged his attention away from Nicola’s eyes. “What does a page have to do with aught? The King had plenty of pages; lairds’ sons sent to court to learn the ways—”
“Och, I dinnae mean—Bah!” Sister Mary Titania waved away the interruption, the motion setting off a sort of tectonic movement beneath her habit and above her belt. “I just meant ye’ll tell us when ye’re good and ready.”
He shot Nicola another glance, saw she had composed herself, and locked his attention across the room. “It isnae a tale for ladies.”
“Good thing we’re nuns!” declared Sister Mary Margarita cheerfully.
Nicola cleared her throat. “If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly.”
Everyone—including Ramsay—turned to stare at her. “What?” he murmured.
Nicola seemed embarrassed by the attention, which wasn’t like her. She shrugged. “I just meant…if ye’re going to tell us, ye might as well get on with it, so it’ll be over and done with.”
The Mother Superior hummed. “’Twere well it were done quickly,” she repeated speculatively. “I like that. I’ll have to use it. Ye have a talent with words, lass. Have ye ever considered writing?”
“What, like a book?” Nicola shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Mentally stable people dinnae write books. Besides, I didn’t make that up. ‘Twas from a famous playwright. Somebody-Or-Other Shakespeare.”
“John?” Sister Mary Verbena suggested. “This is the medieval period. Everyone’s a John these days.”
“William, likely,” corrected Sister Mary Margarita, shaking her head, although her face was of course pointing away from them. “Billy Shakespeare, they call him at home.”
“Kevin!” Nicola raised her finger. “I recall now, ‘twas Kevin Shakespeare.”
The Mother Superior nodded. “I’ll have to remember to use that phrase. Now, Ramsay.” She swung her impressive attention back to him. “Spill.”
“Spill what?” How in damnation had this conversation gotten so far from the point?
“The beans! The tea! The juice!”
He looked a bit like Sister Mary Verbena when he blinked in confusion. “Why would I spill beans? And what the hell is tea?”
The well-endowed nun cleared her throat, then said slowly, with exaggerated politeness, “I would likeye”—she pointed to him—“to please graciously consider telling us”—her gesture took in all the listening women—“exactlywhat in the fook happened on the day ye were ambushed!”
Since she’d said the last part fast enough the words all ran together, it took her a few moments to get her tone back to normal—the deep breaths she was taking were enough to make Ramsay look away, uncomfortable.
“Please. And thank ye verra much.”
He wasn’t fooled by her polite tone.
“I acquitted myself well, although ‘twas bloody. I killed four of them, but I took a sword to my hip, and another man kicked my blade from my hand. I felt the bone in my arm snap.” He cleared his throat, sorry he’d gone into details when he saw her blanch. “I was able to wound MacDonald—I cut off his right hand. He fell back, but no’ afore his last remaining clansmen snuck up behind me.”
Nicola sucked in another gasp and he kept his voice steady when he continued. “I remember a sharp pain in my skull.” He shrugged helplessly. “The next thing I remember was waking up here.”
“The bastards hit ye from behind.” Nicola’s voice shook with fury.
“There,” declared Sister Mary Titania cheerfully, jerking her chin toward Sister Mary Novella. “I told ye we’d get answers, and ‘twould take nae more than a page or two.”
Ramsay shook his head, having no idea what the woman was talking about, but Sister Mary Verbena asked, “Now what? Will ye go after MacDonald once more?”
