do not bathe in the convent?” one of the servants asked.
Briana laughed. “We wash in a basin of cold water.” She shivered just remembering.
“Could you not heat the water over the fire?”
“There was no time. We had only minutes to wash before we had to hurry to chapel for morning prayers.”
“Did you cry when your hair was cut off?” Cora asked.
“Aye. I wept buckets of tears. But later, when I was doing penance for my display of false vanity, Mother Superior reminded me that it’s not what is outside a person that counts. It is what’s in one’s heart.”
“Well said.” Mistress Malloy nodded in agreement. She liked this lass. A refreshing change from most of the highborn women who thought themselves above the rest of the world. Of course, such humility was to be expected of a woman who’d promised her life in service to the Church.
“But your hair, my lady.” Cora poured warm scented water to rinse away the soap. Then she held up one short gleaming strand, while the others gathered around to study it. “It is the color of fire. It must have been lovely before it was shorn.”
“I always thought so. But it no longer matters.” Briana snuggled deeper into the warm water, loving the feeling of freedom. “I have not seen my reflection, nor cared to, in three years now.”
The servants exchanged looks before one of them said, “But my lady, you are truly beautiful. Even with your hair shorn.”
“Beautiful? Now I know you jest. For Cora told me that even the old man who found me thought I was a lad.”
“Because you were covered with mud and blood, my lady. Now that we can see you, you truly are pleasing to the eye.”
Briana waved a hand in dismissal. “It matters not. What matters is that I am alive. And so enjoying all your tender ministrations.” She found herself laughing, and loving the sound. “It has been so long now since I’ve felt this joyful. But it is the knowledge that I am free. Truly free.”
“Free? What do you mean, my lady?” Cora asked.
“I am free of the confining rules and restrictions of the convent.”
“You are not going back?”
“Nay. I was heading home when we were attacked. And now, for the first time, I realize just how much I have survived, thanks to Lord Alcott. Not only the attack by the English soldiers, but the last threat to my freedom. You see, as soon as I am strong enough, I will be returning home, to my beloved Ballinarin.”
“You’re certain she said she is not a nun?” Vinson stood in the shadows of the hallway, his voice low.
“That is what she just told us.” The housekeeper’s eyes were shining. “You saw how obsessed he was with her. She could be the answer to our prayers.”
The old man shrugged. “Maybe. But you say she is eager to return to her home.”
“Aye. But she is far too weak to attempt the journey yet. It could be weeks, months even, before she could endure it.” Mistress Malloy lowered her voice. “She seems a lovely, simple lass. I see no harm in throwing them together and seeing what transpires.”
“This is a dangerous game we play with other people’s lives.”
“Aye. But there’s so little time. You said yourself he plans to leave. And he is our last, our only hope.”
Vinson stared off into space, mulling it over. Then he nodded. “Leave it to me. I’ll think of a way.”
“My lord.”
Keane looked up from the ledgers and was surprised to see the evening shadows outside the window. Where had the day gone?
“Aye, Vinson.”
“The lass felt strong enough to bathe.”
Keane nodded. “A good sign.”
“Aye, my lord. Very soon now, she will be well enough to leave.”
“So it would seem.” He had won the battle. The patient was not only alive, but growing stronger with each day. He took a certain amount of pleasure in the knowledge that he had played a small part in her survival. There’d been so little in his life to be proud of.
Vinson cleared his throat.
Keane tensed, waiting for the old man to say what was on his mind. He was eager to return his attention to the ledgers.
“I thought, since the lass is strong enough to bathe, you might wish to invite her to sup with you.”
Keane frowned. “I’m certain she’d prefer to eat in her chambers.”
“She has not left her room in a fortnight, my lord. The change might do her good.”
Keane pushed away from the desk and strode to the window. His voice lowered. “I think the lass dislikes being in my company.”
“Why do you think that, my lord?”
“Whenever I am near her, she watches me the way prey might watch a hunter.”
“You can hardly blame her. She was, after all, nearly killed here on your land.”
Keane’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not her enemy. If she doesn’t know that now, after all I’ve done to save her, she never will.”
“It could be because of the horror of what she suffered, my lord.”
Keane nodded. “There is that, of course.”
“Or she could be shy, my lord. She is, after all, a lass educated in the convent.”
“Aye.”
The old servant decided to poke and prod a bit more. “You might find it pleasant to have someone with whom you could talk about the books you’ve read, the places you’ve been. She might prove to be an interesting companion, something in short supply here in Carrick.”
Keane stared out the window, seeing nothing. Neither the green rolling hills, nor the flocks undulating across the valley, nor the way the sunset turned the cross atop the chapel to blood. All he saw was the emptiness, stretching out before him. Endless emptiness.
“She has nothing to wear. I doubt she would sup with me wearing a borrowed nightshift.”
Vinson smiled. He’d anticipated the problem. “There are your mother’s trunks. Mistress Malloy could no doubt find something that would fit the lass.”
Keane turned and met the old man’s look. “You’ve put a good deal of thought into this, haven’t you, Vinson?”
“Aye, my lord.” The old man remained ramrod straight. Not a hint of a smile
