3The evening was a quiet one in the abbey. A gentle spring breeze stirred the air, swirling around the plants in the garden. The lavender over by the stone wall swayed back and forth as the wind ebbed and flowed. A white-bonneted head was bobbing among the herbs in the corner, gathering new plants to dry for the diminishing stores. It was just the edge of spring, the twilight cool. She wore a simple, brown cloak over her gown. Stray wisps of dark blonde hair escaped the cap and tickled her cheeks as another gentle wind blew past. Irritably, Grier shoved the strands out of her face.
Satisfied with her clippings, she rose, brushed her skirts off, and headed back through the stone arch, covered in ivy that clung to the abbey's inner wall, basking hanging from her elbow. She could smell the rain on the air and wanted to get inside before it began to pour. Grier passed a sister in her brown habit, nodded in greeting, and continued down the covered breezeway of the courtyard towards the herb pantry. The sooner she bundled the herbs, the sooner they could begin drying and be useful. The Fransiscan nuns used their abbey to offer healing aid to those in need and educate young women, which was why Grier was living within the confines of the abbey walls. She was not yet betrothed, and her father wanted her educated and chaste, so he sent her to live among the sisters to learn discipline and humility before God. The nuns, for the most part, were quiet women who led lives of poverty and discipline. Grier thought that when she was sent to live among them at age twelve that they would be a boring lot of old maids. She had been wrong. Some of the sisters were deemed unmarriageable by their families, whether because there was no money for a dowry or because there just wasn't a good match, the girls seemed accepting of their fate. Others among the sisters had come from poor families who could not afford to feed them. As children they had aided the sisters in the daily activities before taking their vows when they reached the appropriate age.
Grier was only a student in the abbey school. She attended mass, studied Latin, Greek, and French as any daughter of the nobility would, embroidered tapestries and clothing, and learned the healing arts. She was not afraid of blood or gore, and she enjoyed the challenge of caring for the sick. Her father, the laird of clan Grant, allowed such studies, knowing having some knowledge of healing would be useful for a young woman living in a country of near-constant warfare. Her arisaid, made of the Grant tartan, was in a trunk in her room. The sisters disliked anything among the girls that separated them from one another, which meant clan colors were not allowed apparel unless it was a special occasion.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Grier finished tying the twine on the herb bundles. Nursing sister would hang them in the morning with the others, but disliked it when one of the students hung them for her. She said that she preferred standing on her stool and counting her herbs to guessing what had been hung in her absence. When the girls did so they disturbed her system. Putting the basket in a corner of the small room, Grier slipped out and headed for the door on the other side of the courtyard to the dormitories. Her soft shoes made no noise on the cobblestone floor as she walked. It had become full dark while she was working on bundling the herbs, so she navigated the bumps on the floor where she would ordinarily trip from memory. A strange sound reached her ears. Grier stopped, slid sideways behind a pillar, and peered out into the darkness of the yard. She knew the night sounds of the abbey well, and this was not one of them. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary move, she shook her head at herself. She shouldn't let her imagination get the better of her common sense. Still, she had an uneasy feeling and hurried her pace towards her room. She stopped several more times, but heard nothing else strange. Possibly one of the novices was restless and decided to embrace the evening stars for a while, even though they were hidden behind the gathering clouds. Grier opened the door to the dormitory corridor and shut it soundly behind her. Dormitory sister would be along after evensong to check on them. She popped open her door, reached blindly into the dark for her desk, located the candle, and went back into the hall. She lit the candle in its holder by the light of the single torch that burned brightly by the main door. Feeling better with a little light, Grier headed back to her room to undress, say her prayers, and find her bed. The hall was chill, the wind coming easily between the iron bars across the open window frames. It was awful in winter, but the fur-lined tapestries the girls made to cover them were still hung above the frames to cut the worst of the draft. Grier pulled them across the open window spaces as she passed back down to her room. There was no sense in being cold in their own rooms when there was an easy solution.
Satisfied, she opened her door and stepped in, setting the candle down on the desk as she closed the door. A sudden movement, and she was pinned to the door, cheek scraping the wood. A body pressed against her from behind, solid and unmoving. A hand by her head pulled the cap off to reveal her face to the candlelight. Grier's blue eyes flashed in the light. She doubted her mother and father would mind her being unladylike in this particular situation. Raising her foot, she stomped down on the toes directly behind her skirt. As she had only soft, leather slippers on, it had little effect, but she enjoyed the sensation of lashing out. The hand that stole her cap wrapped around the long braid that had tumbled out, and pulled her head back. Grier shrieked and got a sharp tug on her hair for her efforts.
"Are you Lady Grier?" asked a quiet, dark voice. She said nothing, only straining her eyes as far as she could to the side in an attempt to see who had the gall to lay a hand on her. Another hard tug on her hair and Grier's eyes began to water. "Well?"
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth.
"That's a good girl. Just do as I tell you, and we won't have any problems."
Using her hair as leverage, the man shoved her into a sitting position on the bed. He let go, and Grier rubbed her scalp in irritation, wincing slightly. It was then she noticed that there was another man standing in the corner, half hidden in the flickering shadows of the candle.
"Good evening, Lady Grier," he said.
"I rather disagree. And you," she said, turning to glare at the hairpuller, "give me my cap back immediately. How dare you treat me thus."
"My apologies, milady, sometimes Malcolm is unnecessarily forceful." The man handed her back her cap. She dusted it off, glared at him, and plopped it back on her head where it bloody well belonged.
"What do you want?"
"My girl, we are in need of you as a bit of a bargaining chip."
Grier raised an eyebrow. "I am not amenable to that. Leave my room immediately. This is highly improper."
"I'm sorry my lady, but that's not possible. You see, you need to come with us on a wee journey until we can sort things out with your father."
"No," said Grier, putting on her most stubborn face, while subtly reaching into the pocket tied under her skirts for the small knife she used in the garden as she fluffed her skirts around herself.
"No is not an option. You are coming with us this evening."
"You don't seem to understand, you giant brute, that I am not going anywhere. This is an abbey. Kindly leave and stop defiling the sanctity of these hallowed walls."
"Very poetic, m'dear, but you are coming with us, whether you walk on your own or I have to carry you."
Grier, hearing the bells that signaled the end of the day's holy orders, screamed for all she was worth, knowing that someone would hear her now the mass had ended. The hair-puller reached to grab her, and she stabbed him quite neatly in the hand with her knife. He howled and pulled back. Grier took this moment to throw herself off the bed and towards the door. The other man grabbed her arm, and she attempted to kick him. He dodged her foot and shook her. Grier gave another shout, hearing the opening of doors and hurried footsteps. With her free hand she tried to open the door, but the man shoved her off her feet and onto the floor where she scuttled under the desk, pulling her arm away from his grip. He tried to reach for her again, but she shoved the chair into his belly. He gave a great "oof" and stepped back. By now, the hair-puller had recovered himself, although he was still bleeding freely on her bedclothes. It would take hours of scrubbing to get bloodstains out of the linen. That fact alone enrage Grier, ridiculously thinking of the extra work that warranted.
He hurtled towards her and his head collided with the solid wood of the door as Dormitory Sister erupted into the room in a swirl of brown cloth and rage. Dormitory Sister did not tolerate unnecessary noise. She took one look at the bleeding man, the other trying to grapple with Grier under the desk, and released a cry to rival any seasoned warrior. Behind her, a gaggle of girls in shifts and nuns stared into the room, Mother Superior pushing through the crowd to get to the bottom of things. Dormitory Sister was hanging onto the back of the nameless man, hammering him over the head with the heavy book of prayer she'd taken off the desk. Vaguely Grier felt the urge to laugh; Dormitory Sister was right, prayer was a good weapon.
The unnamed man tried to toss Sister off him, but she held on like lichen to a tree with one arm, continuing the pound him over the head with the book. Mother Superior entered the fray, taking a surprisingly sizable dirk from within her habit and slashing at the hair-puller. He howled and scrambled out of the way from her as she advanced. The desk upended as Dormitory Sister, the man, and the book toppled to the floor, giving Grier a chance to escape into the hall with the others. Hands reached for her, pulling her out of the melee. Kitchen Sister, otherwise known as Sister Amelia, joined her sisters with a ladle in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. She nudged Mother Superior out of the way, and pinned the hair-puller in the corner with her knife, brandishing her cooking implement with gleeful menace. It wasn't often she got to have such fun.
"Stop it," roared the Mother Superior, and silence fell. "Do stop hitting him on the head, Sister Ida. I believe you have him now." She suppressed a smile as Dormitory Sister stood from her position sitting on her man's chest, continuing to beat him about the head with her book. "I want rope."
There was scuffle in the hallway as someone returned with several lengths of rope. Several sisters joined in the process of tying the men up, while their violent guardians stood at the ready with their weapons should they dare to try anymore nonsense. The sisters dragged the tied men out into the hall, heading towards the storage rooms, which had lovely, large locks on them.
"Now, settle down ladies. That is quite enough excitement for tonight, now to your beds. We shall handle this problem," said the Mother. "Where is Lady Grier?"
"She's in my room, Mother Superior," said a soft voiced girl named Iona.
"Good. She shall stay with you until further notice. Bolt your doors, girls."
With a swirl of dark robes, the sisters left the hall, leaving the young inhabitants in a state of curiosity. Mother Superior couldn't possibly believe that any of them were going to find their rest with this upheaval. Girls took up every inch of space in Iona's room until she insisted that Grier needed room to breathe to prevent her swooning.
"What happened?" asking Iona, pushing the door closed with a thud.
"Two strange men were just relaxing in my room waiting to kidnap me, apparently," said Grier, feeling hysterical giggles coming on.
"Highly inappropriate in an abbey. I hope Kitchen Sister gets to use her cleaver. She so does like a bit of excitement." Iona giggled.
"Oh, I think Dormitory Sister had the situation well in hand."
"Grier, you look distraught. Get into bed and rest. We needn't worry about anything further this evening."
"But how can you say that? There are hardened brigands in the abbey."
"Yes, with the sisters. They don't tolerate noise in mass, so why would you think that they'd tolerate murderers or kidnappers any better? Now rest," instructed Iona, using the motherly voice she had been cultivating lately. Recent letters from home had indicated that a match had been found for her, encouraging her to practice the ways of an elegant lady of the manor in all things, including caring for errant children or servants. Iona expedited the process by blowing out the candle, ending all arguments about getting to sleep.
Iona slept, breathing deeply in the bed next to Grier, but she herself remained awake into the wee hours of the night, mind catching every sound that might not be of the norm. She was, of course, bring ridiculous. There was no way that the sisters would allow two such events in one evening, but still she worried. Perhaps she should return home if men were attempting to kidnap her. She would send a letter home, requesting an escort in the morning.