couldn’t bear to look at the mass of red tangles that spilled around a deceptively angelic face. It had always secretly pleased him that his only daughter had inherited his mother’s lush, coppery hair.
Because they lacked conviction, his words were hurled like daggers. “All the better. ‘Twill be good for her humility.”
Briana’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back furiously. She’d rather die than let the village lads see her cry.
Gavin saw the way his daughter was struggling for control and turned away abruptly. He had crossed a line. There would be no turning back now. By evening, all in the surrounding villages would know that Gavin O’Neil had banished his only daughter to the Abbey of St. Claire, to turn her into a lady.
Because I love her, he told himself. Because I would do anything to keep her safe. Even turn her out of her beloved home, and deny her mother and me the pleasure of her company.
“I’ll have a messenger ride ahead to the cloister. Pack her bags and bid your daughter Godspeed, Moira. Briana leaves on the morrow.”
The Abbey of St. Claire 1656
“Briana.” The voice of tall, stern Sister Immaculata came from just outside the doorway. “You must wake, child.”
“Not yet.” The figure huddled deeper into the nest of coarse blankets, wanting to return to her dream. It had been such a sweet dream. She’d been riding her favorite steed across the lush green hills of Ballinarin, in the shadow of towering Croagh Patrick. Her best friend, Innis, and her brothers, Rory and Conor, had been with her, laughing and teasing. She’d been free. Gloriously free of the odious rules that now governed her life. Prayers before dawn, followed by a meal of tasteless gruel, and then work in the fields until noon, when the Angelus was prayed and they were allowed a meal of meat and cheese before retiring to their cells to pray and rest. The afternoon was the same. Endless work, followed by bread and soup, and then evening vespers. Even sleep was regulated, broken at midnight and again at three o’clock in the morning for common prayer in the chapel.
Out of consideration for their age, the older nuns were given duties inside the convent, scrubbing floors, washing linens, cleaning the chapel. The younger ones, students and postulants alike, worked the fields and tended the herds.
“Briana, you must get up now.” The voice was beside her. A hand touched her shoulder. That, in itself, had her coming fully awake, for there was no touching allowed in the convent. There were no hugs. No squeezing of hands. Even the brush of one shoulder by another caused both parties to stiffen and turn away.
She opened her eyes. The blaze from the candle held in the nun’s hand made her squint. “I’ve only just fallen asleep, Sister. It can’t be time to pray yet.”
“I haven’t wakened you for prayer, child. Mother Superior awaits you in the refectory.”
“The refectory? She’s eating?”
“Nay. She is seeing to a meal for the lads who have come to escort you home.”
Home. Briana blinked, unable to say the word aloud. Her banishment of one year had grown to two, and then to three, as she had railed against the injustice of the rules, managing to break every one of them. For each rule she broke, the prospect of ever seeing Ballinarin again had become so remote, she had feared it would never happen. And now, without notice, she was being given a reprieve. Still, though there was the slightest flicker of hope, she held back, refusing to allow it to burst into flame for fear it would be snuffed, as it had so often in the past. “But why now?”
“I don’t know, child. Mother Superior will explain it to you. Now hurry and dress.” Satisfied that her young charge was not going to fall back asleep, the old nun took her leave as silently as she had come.
Briana slipped off the coarse nightshift and crossed to a basin of cold water, washing quickly. Then she dressed in a shapeless brown garment and scuffed boots, before folding up her pallet and setting it in a corner of the room. A quick glance around assured her that the cell was as clean and as bare as when she had arrived, three years earlier.
Despite the time she had spent here, there was nothing of Briana in this simple cell. No mementoes of home and family. No small comforts. The sleeping pallet consisted of a rough blanket on the floor. On a plain table rested a basin and pitcher, which bore no adornments. There was no mirror. For that, Briana was grateful. She had no desire to see how she must look now, with her hair shorn, her hands, rough and callused, the nails torn and ragged from her hours spent tending the crops and flocks in the fields. Even her body had changed. Gone were the soft, round curves of younger womanhood. Over the years she had grown taller and reed slender, with the merest slope of hips, and breasts so small and firm, they were easily concealed beneath the robes of a peasant.
She stepped from the cell and pulled the door closed behind her, moving soundlessly along the darkened corridor.
When she entered the refectory, Mother Superior hurried over.
“These lads have come to fetch you home.”
Briana glanced at the lads who were seated at a long wooden table, eating a hastily prepared meal of meat and cheese and crusty bread. With a sinking heart she realized that they were the faces of strangers. The lads she’d known in her girlhood had probably moved on with their lives, no doubt with wives and children of their own.
“Why am I being summoned home?”
Mother Superior motioned for her to sit. At once Sister Ascension, the cook, waddled over to place a platter of meat and cheese in front of her.
While Briana dutifully ate, Mother Superior explained. “Your father was recently wounded.”
“Wounded? What…?” Her words trailed off at the look on the nun’s face.
Mother Superior gave a sigh of dismay. Even after three years of training, the lass still hadn’t learned to hold her tongue. But at least she had remained seated. The firebrand who had first come to the convent would have leapt to her feet and demanded all the details immediately.
“The wounds are not serious. But your mother desires your assistance in caring for The O’Neil. She feels that the challenge is too great for her to carry alone.”
Briana’s smile was quick. “Aye. My father healthy is challenge enough. My father wounded would be unbearable. Especially once he started to mend.”
Then another thought intruded. It was her mother who had sent for her, not her father. Did that mean that he had still not forgiven her? She felt the pain, sharp and quick, then quickly dismissed it. It no longer mattered. Once Gavin O’Neil saw her, he would realize that she had changed. She would win his love. She had to. It had been the one thing that had always driven her.
She suddenly found that she had lost her appetite. The thought that she was really going home had her nerves jumping. Because she had often been lectured on the sinfulness of wasting food, she gathered the rest of her meal and placed it in a pocket of her robe, before getting to her feet. Across the room, the lads pulled on their cloaks and headed toward the door. Briana and Mother Superior followed.
In
