Page 31 of The Highlander's Virgin Nun
Rosaline had to admit that she did not really know if they would come after her, and that thought scared her even more.
“I dinnae want to live in fear,” she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“I willnae let ye. If ye give me their names.”
Rosaline took a deep breath. “Mother Denise Cowan is the Abbess. She is in charge, and has led the charge against me. Sister Maude Whyte is her second-in-command. She was terribly cruel, simply because it brought her some kind of twisted joy.”
“Were they all the same?”
“Nay,” Rosaline answered quickly. “Sister Victoria Whyte, the younger sister of Maude… she was wonderful. She cared for me after the beatings—cleaned and dressed me wounds. Nay harm should ever come to her.” Her heart clenched at the memory.
“All right, I understand.” Caelan nodded, absorbing the information. “And yer braither? What is his name?”
Rosaline’s eyes darted up to his. “Why? He means me nay harm. He just wasnae able to come for me. He must have had his reasons.”
Caelan nodded and placed a hand on her leg, patting it reassuringly. “I ken, I ken, but I will be able to find him and get some answers. Tell me his name. Tell meyername.”
It was the final admission. The final part of her that she was concealing from him. Revealing her name could change everything. He could know her clan, their history, or even her brother personally.
What if Conall was one of the assassins? Or what if he was dead, and she was about to find out?
Every possibility raced through her mind. She had not spoken about her family in years.
“Conall Shaw. Laird of Clan MacKinnon.”
She watched Caelan’s face closely, trying to gauge his reaction, but he gave away very little. He kept his expression serious, grave, before finally opening his mouth.
“Rosaline Shaw. Of Clan MacKinnon.”
The sound of her full name took her breath away. She had been called denigrating names for so long, only to be called Rosaline in such a deep, warm voice.
She had barely been brave enough to think her name, never mind saying it or hearing it out loud. Her last identity with such a name flooded back to her.
Little Rosaline Shaw. The Laird’s daughter. Motherless but loved. A cared-for, happy, energetic child. Rosaline Shaw had been loved.
“I will find them—all of them—and bring upon them whatever penance they deserve, good or bad.”
Rosaline closed her eyes and breathed deeply, calming her emotions. She had told him everything. She was entirely herself now.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
“All right, that’s enough for now.” Caelan exhaled, pushing himself up with his hands on his thighs.
He walked back towards his pack, where it lay next to Miller. He dug his arm deep inside and felt his hand land on a medium-sized glass bottle.
“Shall we? I’m afraid I have nay goblets, so straight from the bottle will have to do.” He offered the bottle of mead to Rosaline and watched her face finally break into a smile after such a somber evening. “It’ll warm ye right up.”
“I’m nae much of a drinker,” she replied, and Caelan thought he should have known. “Unless there’s a game involved.”
“Oh.” He laughed, coming back to sit beside her. “Is that so? What kind of game did ye have in mind, lass?”
“How are ye with riddles?” She had a glint in her eyes and a bit of cheek in her smile.
He adored seeing her like this, as if he was seeing the real Rosaline, the person she might have been with her friends.
“Terrible,” he replied honestly, “but if a drink is me forfeit, then I’m thirsty.”
“All right then, I’ll start.”
